


By Inches We Fall

by kelex



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-07-28 08:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 67,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16237640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelex/pseuds/kelex
Summary: After the DragonWar and the fall of the Wall, Jon Stark now sits on the Iron Throne.  His current project?  To make sure that Brienne of Tarth is married to Jaime Lannister.





	1. Summons To Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> Set three to five years after the events of season 7. Pre-Season 8. The DragonWar is the war against the Army of the Dead and Daenerys Targaryen. And watch the ratings change, there may be some nudity and adult content coming. Although, if you're watching the show, I'm not showing you anything you haven't already seen.
> 
> Updates are (hopefully) weekly, with Friday or Sunday being the target days. Not exactly sure how many more chapters are forthcoming, but as soon as I know I'll change it. ~~**ETA: UPDATES ON THURSDAY**~~
> 
> There's only a couple of scenes of violence, but I'm flagging it anyway on the off chance someone might get bothered. But like I said, if you can watch Game of Thrones, you can read this no problem.

"My lady."  Brienne bowed as Sansa turned from the window, a small smile still on her lips.  Obviously she had been watching her new husband in the yard, although Brienne did not know that for a certainty.  Only a likelihood.  
  
"Please, don't do that," Sansa pled softly, holding her hand out.  Brienne had been nothing but faithful to her and to the Stark family at large, even going so far as to continue "sparring" with Arya.  "Sit, if you like. There's wine if you're thirsty." Sansa sat at the window seat, the small smile still on her face. "I thought that I should be the one to tell you, we are having visitors tonight.  From Casterley Rock," she added.  
  
At the mention of visitors, Brienne very nearly rolled her eyes, but at the mention of Casterley Rock, her head shot up.  "Casterley Rock?" she repeated, and her hand went to unconsciously clasp the lion-headed hilt of Oathkeeper.  
  
Sansa's eagle eye did not miss that reaction, nor the grip of the sword.  Brienne had long since confessed the sword's origins, that it had once been Ned Stark's, then melted and reforged by Tywin Lannister, given to Jaime, and then passed to Brienne to help her fulfill her oath to Lady Catelyn.  "Yes," is all Sansa confirmed. "The entourage is not large; the Lord and his household retinue." Her eyes sparkled a bit as she teased the woman still kneeling in front of her.  
  
"I see."  The grip on the sword hilt tightened.  "I'll make certain that the household guard is notified, my lady, and I will send the Maester up."  
  
"Yes, do.  We need to plan a welcoming dinner for our guest."  
  
"He's always been fond of rabbit, my lady."  Brienne bolted to her feet and disappeared out the door, nearly bowling Jon over in the process. "Lord Stark."  
  
"Ser Brienne."  He watched her quickly depart, and tossed his cape onto the peg by the door, snowflakes falling to melt on the fire-warmed floor of their chamber.  "Did you tell her Jaime is coming?"  
  
\-----  
  
Jaime Lannister despised the King's Road.  Nothing good had ever happened on it, but if you wanted to get to Winterfell without freezing to death before you arrived, you took the King's Road and were glad to have it.  Truth be told, he had not been back to Winterfell since he'd come with Robert Baratheon, and there were far too many things in his history to feel entirely sanguine about his invitation to the keep.  However, the invitation had come from both Lord and Lady Stark--and how strange it was to think of Aegon Targaryen as a bloody Stark, and he honestly could not refuse it.  
  
And all of that was a thin tissue of lies to cover the fact that he was coming to Winterfell for one single reason--Brienne of fucking Tarth.  He had a shrewd idea that he was either going to receive a warm welcome or a sword in the belly from the lady in question, and either outcome pretty much covered all things in between.    
  
A heavy clip-clop of hoofbeats meant another horse was drawing abreast of his, and he focused his attention on the rider.  Bronn of the Blackwater, of course; the only bastard brave enough to brace Jaime's surly attitude. "My lord."  
  
"Ser Bronn."  A deep sigh.  
  
"Your brother's safely housed in the Citadel.  The raven arrived at Casterley Rock after we left, but Maester Yevin sent it along with a rider."    
  
Jaime took the scroll from Bronn, and scanned it while keeping one eye on the horse.   _Fucking Maesters don't have a decent brothel in the city.  Pity Littlefinger is gone, they could use his touch. I'm going to have to step up and hire some whores and run the house myself.  Give the bastard my admiration and Lady Sansa my regards. Take care of yourself, my brother._  "Little bastard is actually going to try and start a brothel in the Citadel."  
  
Bronn snorted.  "He'll be fucking away whatever profits he earns."    
  
"Or you could look at it like he'll be busy testing out the new girls," Jaime pointed out, passing the scroll back over.  "This saddle is chafing my ass. How much longer?"  
  
Bronn jerked his head back.  "Castle's just over the hill, maybe an hour?"    
  
"Thank God."  Jaime pulled the horse up sharp, making it give a sideways step before stopping.  "I'm going to walk in the rest of the way; I don't care what the rest of you do."  
  
Shaking his head, Bronn took the reins and held the horse steady while Jaime got off, and then passed the reins back to him.  "I'll ride back and give the word to slow down so we don't run you over."  
  
Jaime just glared as Bronn rode off,and turned his attention back to the towers of Winterfell, which just peeked over the hillside.    
  
\-----  
  
"Raise the gate!"  Brienne was standing on the parapet of the keep wall, watching the line of horses and luggage carts wind through the road that led to Winterfell.  She had noticed Jaime first off; he was walking his horse at the front of the line, winter sunlight dancing off his gold and steel hand. As soon as she had seen him, she'd called for the gate to open, and he was just beginning to draw close enough for her to see his face.    
  
Time and war had taken their toll; there was a seriousness that flattered him and that dulled the sharp edges of callow attractiveness to real handsomeness.  The ravages of his family showed in his unbowed back and unbroken brow; mourning a dead sister and a mutilated brother had sobered him into a strong man. The oaths of honor he'd fulfilled during the DragonWar had finally allowed him to shed the hated name of Kingslayer, and it was a weight that lifted his shoulders into a straight line.  His plate was shined, and a red and yellow cape swirled around his calves.  
  
His hand raised as soon as he saw Brienne standing on the wall, looking down at him.    
  
Brienne raised a hand in greeting, and descended the wall's nearby ladder.  By the time Jaime had entered the gates of Winterfell, Brienne was there to meet him.  "My Lord."  
  
"My Lady."  An impudent wink; if there was anything that--yep, there it was.  "Ow!"  
  
Brienne's fist landed on Jaime's shoulder, exposed under the epaulets.  "I am not a lady."  
  
"Yes, you are," Jaime countered honestly.  "You will always be a lady to me."  
  
The flush was there and gone in an instant, and she glared at Bronn and the others.  "My lord, Lord and Lady Stark await you inside, where it's much warmer. Follow me, please, and the boys will see to the horses."    
  
Jaime and Bronn followed Brienne in, while the Stark servants flocked around the group from Casterley Rock, unloading two carts of luggage and gifts of food and furs for his hosts.  The horses were quickly hurried into the stables, and that was the last that Jaime saw before he entered the main chamber.  
  
It was not that different from the last time he had been.  A feast lay on great trestle tables, and three empty seats were waiting at the Lord's table.  For himself and Bronn, surely, and it took him a moment to realize the third was beside Sansa, and that would be for Brienne.  "Lord and Lady Stark, many thanks for your hospitality."  
  
Jon and Sansa both stood side by side, and it was, not surprisingly, Sansa that spoke first.  "Welcome to Winterfell, Lord Lannister, and thank you for receiving our invitation."  
  
Then it was Jon's turn.  "My Lord, thank you for coming.  You do me great honor coming here."  
  
"I would not refuse my king's command," Jaime said honestly.  Which was true, as far as it went. It didn't really matter to him one way or another where the King ruled from, the King was the King.  And if the King wanted to freeze his cock off in the North, well, Jaime would tuck it up and head North. "My wagons have brought some small gifts, Your Grace.  The last of the summer grain from Casterley Rock, and fruit from Highgarden." The Lannisters had occupied Highgarden since Olenna's death, and Jaime was regent, distributing the food produced in Highgarden wherever it was needed in the Seven Kingdoms.  In return, the other Kingdoms traded gold, dragonglass, cloth and furs, whatever they had of value that the Rock needed. Soon he'd have to trek to Riverrun, but that was months away.  
  
"Very generous, Lord Jaime."  Jon and Sansa sat, which was the cue for everyone to be seated.  Jaime and Bronn took their places beside Jon, and Brienne sat beside Sansa.  A minstrel wandered the hall, playing cheery songs of mischievous love and playful lovers, and Jon spoke to Jaime.  "And how fares the Lord of Casterley Rock?"  
  
Jaime stabbed the rabbit on his plate, the aroma nearly making his mouth water even as he grumped at the question.  "It is a position that I never wanted, Your Grace," he said simply. "But my father prepared me well for it."  
  
A sympathetic nod from the king.  "I understand you too well on that score; the Iron Throne is something I never wanted, either.  But my father taught all of us how to rule with grace and honor, dignity and fairness."  
  
His father, Ned Stark.  Not Rhaegar Targaryen. Jaime understood it, because it was still awkward thinking of Jon Snow--Stark--as Aegon Targaryen, Seventh of that Name.  "Doesn't it strike you as ironic that those of us who wanted positions of power least are the ones who remain to claim them?"  
  
"No," Jon said with a shake of his head.  "Because we did not want them, we were destined to have them.  We did not fight for power, and the lust for it didn't destroy us."  He motioned to the steward nearest, and he brought forth a black onyx box.  "Here, this is for you."  
  
Jaime leaned to the side, letting the young boy place the box on the table.  Bracing it with his metal hand, Jaime flipped the clasp and lifted the lid. "Oh, fuck me," he muttered, almost--but not quite--under his breath.  A silver Hand in a gold circle lay nestled on the black fur, and Jaime closed the lid without even taking the pin out. "I flatly refuse."  
  
Sansa leaned over to Brienne as Jon laughed, loudly.  "I think he said no."  
  
"I told you that he would, my lady," Brienne said just as quietly as Sansa had spoken to her.  "Lord Jaime would never accept the appointment."  
  
Jon was still laughing at Jaime's reaction.  "I want you to reconsider," he said honestly, after his mirth had passed.  "You proved your fealty and your faithfulness to our House and my Throne during the DragonWar, and there is none here I trust more than you.  You will not simply bend to me because I sit on the Throne, nor will you hesitate to tell me if you think I'm being an ass. The Hand is supposed to be a check on the King, not an extension of him.  My father was Hand to Robert Baratheon, and that was the one lesson he divulged to us. The Hand of the King does not do the King's bidding, but the realm's."  
  
"No," came the succinct reply, and he pushed the box back over towards Jon.  
  
"I will ask you again," Jon warned.  
  
"And I'll tell you no again," came the promise.  "Besides, I won't live here. You might not mind ice hanging from your--nose, but I certainly do."  
  
Jon laughed at that again, and slapped Jaime on the back.  "I wouldn't ask that of you. I'd ask you to attend me in King's Landing when I'm there, and when I'm home, I'd expect you to be at Casterley Rock, where I can call on you if need be."  Jon flicked a glance towards Sansa, who nodded minutely. "Besides, if you're worried about being cold while you're here, I could offer you a wife."  
  
The wine that he'd just drunk came flooding out Jaime's mouth and nose.  "Wife?" he spluttered, coughing and glaring at Jon through watering eyes.  
  
"Yes, a wife.  You're a Lord now, and you should have a lady wife," Sansa added, grinning a bit at Jaime's discomfiture.    
  
"And I suppose you've got someone in mind, have you?" Jaime demanded hoarsely, glaring at both host and hostess.    
  
"As it matters, I do.  Brienne of Tarth is of noble birth, the sole heir of Lord Selwyn Tarth," Sansa answered quickly, ignoring the gasp and thump of Brienne jumping out of her chair.  "And she is close to my heart, my Lord, and I would not idly offer her unless I was certain that he to whom I offered her is deserving."  
  
That was just a little bit more information than Jaime could take at the moment, and so he followed Brienne's advice and very rapidly got up from the table and fled the hall.  
  
\---  
  
A hot bath was waiting in Jaime's chambers, but he had eschewed it for the moment, instead perching on the edge of his bed and trying to figure out what in seven hells had just happened.    
  
A heavy fist pounded his chamber door, and he rose to open it.  He stood face to face with Brienne, who looked as if she'd been running the entire length of the King's Road.  "I had nothing to do with dinner," she said bluntly, bypassing greetings as she pushed past him and into the room.  
  
"Oh, hello.  Please, come in.  You're looking well," Jaime said dryly as he closed the door.  "I'm doing quite well, thank you."  
  
The chastisement went over her head.  "That wasn't my idea," she repeated.  
  
"I didn't think it was," Jaime said reassuringly.  
  
“I told Lady Stark you wouldn’t be Hand, too,” she pointed out.  “But His Grace was determined.”  
  
“Breathe,” Jaime said simply.  “I didn’t think you had anything to do with either surprise; in fact, I’d like to say thank you for trying to defend my dignity.”  
  
“No thanks are necessary,” Brienne answered honestly.  
  
Perhaps they weren’t.  Perhaps Jaime wasn’t used to people doing kind things on his behalf, or perhaps Brienne simply wasn’t accustomed to being thanked for her kindness.  Either way, he tilted his head and let it stand. “Do you think I should be Hand of the King?”  
  
Brienne blinked.  “It’s not my place to say.”   
  
“I’ve asked your opinion; of course it’s your place to say.  I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.” Jaime softened the criticism with a smile.    
  
“Lord Stark is a fine King.”  Not the King that Renly might have been, but his kindness and fair judgement was evident in Jon Snow--Stark, she reminded herself silently.  “He is honorable and fair, stern with reason and kind to all. He has shown his worth in battle, and is worthy of honorable counsel.”  
  
"That leaves me out,” Jaime said to himself.  
  
“That is why you were approached,” Brienne corrected.  “But I spoke to Lady Sansa, and I told her that while I thought you were quite worthy of the position, you would not take it for all the gold in the Seven Kingdoms.”  
  
“Well… certainly not in Westeros.  But all of the Seven Kingdoms? I could be persuaded…”  He ducked the punch he knew was coming his way.   
  
Brienne’s halfhearted blow whistled harmlessly through the air.  “Be serious!”  
  
“I am!  I’m not going to be the King’s bloody Hand!”  He was forcibly reminded of many conversations with Cersei; _the hours are too long and the lifespan too short._  Luckily his brother had escaped with his life, if not his health.  And then he had to smile. “Would you marry me anyway?”  
  
Brienne was momentarily speechless.  Would she marry? The question was truly, would Ser Jaime, Lord of Casterley Rock, lower himself to marry--well, _her._  “I will marry whomever my Lady deems proper,” seemed to be the safe answer.  
  
Well, what else had he expected?  Joy? Overwhelming ecstasy at the prospect of marrying a one-handed Lord with his reputation?  “It was just a thought.” He dropped down onto the bed, tugging at his boots with his good hand.  “Where’s Podrick?”  
  
The abrupt change of subject confused Brienne for a long moment, and then she cleared her throat.  “He’s back with your brother in the Citadel. By his choice, not the Imp’s.”  
  
“Bronn will be sad to have missed him, I’m sure.”  He finally wrested one boot off, and started on the other.  
  
“Let me help you.”  Brienne brushed his hands away, loosening the straps and pulling the other boot off with ease.  “Don’t you have a valet?”   
  
“I do, and he’s traveled with me.  He’s probably unpacking the luggage cart.”  No need to mention that it was easier to have Bronn do it than someone unfamiliar.  Bronn, at least, didn’t keep his thoughts to himself. Come to think of it, that’s why he appreciated the man.  And Brienne.  
  
“Then let me call Bronn for you.”   
  
“For God’s sake, it’s not like you haven’t seen it before,” Jaime pointed out, standing up.  
  
That was true; over the years she had seen Jaime in all manner of dishabille, both helping him and treating his wounds.  So she rose to her feet as he did, hands pulling the corners of his cape from the chain attaching them to his armor, and folded it over the back of the chair.  The plate mail came off next, from gauntlets and breastplate to greaves. Those pieces she set carefully on the floor of the wardrobe, and put her hands on her hips.  “Where the hell is your luggage?”  
  
“You think I know?”  Jaime was holding his flesh hand out towards the fire to get it warm, because even with the roaring blaze, the stone room felt cold to him.  Then again, it could have been just the linen shirt and riding breeches under the armor, too, instead of normal clothing that could stand up to this Gods-forsaken cold.  
  
“You’re going to freeze to death if you don’t start dressing for Winterfell,” she pointed out, hiding her smile even as she shook her head.  She yanked the quilt off the bed and draped it around his shoulders. “There, that should do for a moment, until your boy--”  
  
The sentence was interrupted by a perfunctory knock, and then Bronn came in, already speaking.  “Cold as a dead whore’s cunt out there, my Lord.”  
  
“Bronn, you fucking idiot,” was Jaime’s reply, feeling a bit of shame-by-association for his friend’s coarse language in front of Brienne.  
  
“Oh, sorry about that.”  He made a mocking bow towards Brienne.  “Didn’t realize you were engaged.”  
  
“We’re not,” Brienne hastened to assure, stepping from being Jaime to reveal that she was still fully dressed and armored.  
  
“Why the fuck not?”  Bronn scratched his head as he dropped into the chair by Jaime’s cabinet, and poured himself a frothing cup of ale.  “I know he wants to fuck you and I’m pretty sure you want to fuck him, and apparently the King and Queen both want you to fuck each other.”  
  
Brienne flushed again, partly of embarrassment and partly of anger.  “Since he’s here now, my Lord, I’ll go and see if I can hurry your valet along with your clothes.”  
  
“Oh, don’t rush out on my account,” Bronn called out after Brienne’s hasty departure.  “We’re going to have to work out some kind of signal, you know. If you’ve got a lady in your rooms--”  
  
“Do shut up,” Jaime growled, dropping onto the bed and throwing the quilt off his shoulders.  “Did you hear that nonsense at dinner? First Jon Stark wants me to be Hand of the bloody King, and then Sansa wants to marry me off to Brienne!”  
  
“Aye, I heard, and I don’t know why you didn’t say yes to the both,” Bronn answered, after draining his cup.  “At least to the wedding, because I know good and well--”  
  
“Finish that thought and I’ll cut out your tongue.”  
  
“You can try, my lord.”  Bronn poured himself a refill, and then filled a cup for Jaime.  “Now now. Let’s get drunk and you can tell me all about the things you hate about Brienne so I can tell you what an idiot you are for not marrying her.”


	2. Bran and the Weirwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Brienne fetch Bran from the weirwood; Sansa gets to hear both sides of the story and Brienne gets a task for the next day.

Brienne stormed through the halls of Winterfell, slinging a fur-lined cloak over her shoulders as she drew close to the courtyard.  "Pellin!" she shouted, calling out the name of the head Stableboy. "Pellin, where the hell are you?"  
  
"Here, Ser!"  
  
Brienne scowled; she'd allowed Sansa to speak to Jon and have Brienne named a knight, although it thrilled her lady more than it thrilled Brienne herself.  Still, it did save some arguing, especially with those who honored honorifics. "The wagons from Casterley Rock, have they been unloaded?"  
  
"Yes, Ser.  Maester Wolkan is with two of the pages from the Rock, and they are going through the grain and things that were brought.  The rest of the Casterley wagons were unloaded, and the baggage is being delivered straight to the rooms."  
  
"Well, see if you can hurry it up.  Lord Jaime is freezing his arse off in his room because nobody's made it there with his clothes yet," Brienne ordered.  
  
"Yes, Ser."  Pellin gave a quick bow and then scurried off to do what he was bidden.  That was one thing Brienne _did_ enjoy about Winterfell, the fact that nobody argued what they were bidden to do.  
  
She proceeded into the stables, leaning against the doorway and watching as two of the younger boys curried Jaime's horse and polished his saddle.  "Check the left strap, boy, it gets more wear than the other side." Mostly because of the shifting weight of his good hand pulling more than his missing hand.  
  
"Yes, Ser!"  The boy studiously turned the saddle to the left, and carefully examined the straps and buckles.  "They look fine for now, but I'll have to ask in the morning to have the buckle changed before they leave."  
  
"So here's where you ran off."  Sansa was standing behind Brienne.  "I came to say goodnight to Bran, but he's not in his room.  I figure he's out at the godswood, and I was going to ride to check.  Would you accompany me, please?"  
  
"Of course, my lady.  It would be my honor."  Brienne moved into the stable.  "Hurry and saddle the lady's horse, boys.  I can take care of my own."  
  
The two boys hurried to prepare the horse for Lady Stark, and Sansa watched Brienne's practiced hands buckling her own saddle and smoothing the wrinkles out of the saddle blanket.  "I wish Bran would come back into the house more often, but he claims the weirwood tree helps him to focus."  
  
"I don't know, my lady, I've only heard the stories about people like your brother.  Until I knew him, I didn't know they were true."  
  
The boys led Sansa's horse over, and she mounted easily, waiting for Brienne to join her before they started riding towards the godswood.  "My husband once told me that the wildlings beyond the walls all had wargs like Bran. Every tribe had one, and the warg he knew, Orell, tried to escape into his falcon before he and the bird were both killed.  It makes me worry for my brother."  
  
"You know that I will do all in my power to protect him," Brienne pointed out, making sure she kept pace with Sansa.  "He is your brother, and son of my lady Catelyn. I count his safety as part of my oath to you and her."  
  
That made Sansa smile.  "You really are extraordinary, you know."  She eyed Brienne carefully out of the corner of her eye.  "I'm quite sorry for the way that we sprung that surprise on you at dinner.  Truth be told, His Grace and I have been thinking about this for quite some time.  We know that you are fond of the gentleman, and that a marriage between Jaime Lannister and my sworn guardswoman would bind the houses together more formally than the alliance during the DragonWar."  
  
Brienne flushed again, but blamed it on the wind and snow chafing her cheeks.  "It isn't my place to deny your wishes, my lady, nor the command of my king. If you decree it, I will marry him.  It will be up to Ser Jaime to decide if he wishes to marry me."  
  
Sansa had to bite her lip to keep the inappropriate amusement from her face.  "I think that once it is presented in a more serious light, he will be glad to accept the proposal," is all she said.  "I wish we'd brought torches; it's getting darker earlier than I'd expected."  
  
"Sometimes the stableboys will pack a torch in the saddlebags," Brienne said, turning to check her own but coming up empty.  "But not this time."  
  
Sansa turned to check her own, and came up with a half-used torch.  "We're in luck, if you've got a flint."  
  
"That I've got," was Brienne's quick answer, and she leaned across to strike it.  After a few sparks, the torch roared to life, and it threw flickering light down the path to the godswood.  "A few more snowfalls like last night, and he won't be able to move that chair through the snow," she observed, pointing out where the snowflakes were half covering the wheel tracks of Bran's wheeled chair.  
  
"Yes, that's why I haven't  tried to stop him from coming; I'm not sure I understand what he does, but I wish to support him."  Sansa stopped when the tree--and Bran--came into view. "Bran!"  
  
The boy under the tree didn't turn for a long moment, not until the two riders were almost atop him.  "Sansa, Lady Brienne."  
  
"You're frozen through!" Sansa cried out.  
  
Bran's face was ruddy from the cold, flakes freezing on his eyelashes because there was not enough body heat left to melt them.  His hands were buried under the layers of fur rugs that covered his legs, and his arms and shoulders were layered with fur cloaks and a thick cape.  "I'm all right; is it time already?"  
  
"Yes, past time.  I don't think you'll be able to make it out tomorrow in your chair," Sansa said.  
  
"I'll bring him, my lady," Brienne volunteered.  "The saddler has made him a new saddle to fit him, and I'll build a fire."  
  
"Thank you," Bran replied absently, his mind obviously on the things he'd seen and not in the here and now.  
  
"We may have to leave the chair," she added.  "The snow's coming down too thick to roll through, and I'm afraid we'll tip you over if I try and pull you.  It won't be comfortable, but you can ride back with me, or I'll stay until Lady Sansa can get back and send someone to help me push."  
  
Bran had experience with this.  "Take the big rug from my legs and lay it behind your horse.  Tie it to the saddle, and pull me behind. Then tie the chair to Sansa's horse, and it'll roll behind her.  Even if it tips over, it won't hurt anything, and I'll have it to move around the keep in."  
  
Brienne considered.  It was his independence, and she nodded.  "But let me pull the chair, and let Lady Sansa pull you.  You're a lighter load on her horse together than you and I would be on mine, and they'll get you back where it's warm quicker.  I'll be behind you."  
  
It took a little while, but under Bran's directions, he was soon settled warmly on the rug behind Sansa's horse and was being pulled home.  Brienne roped the chair to the back of her saddle, making it as stable as possible before she swung back up on the horse and headed back towards Winterfell.  
  
The snow was whirling in the wind, not quite a blizzard but definitely the beginning of a hard snowfall.  it made her eyes water, but she didn't stop until she and the chair were safely inside the keep's courtyard.  
  
Bran was already being carried inside, and Sansa was leading her horse back to its stall.  Brienne could see her speaking to someone, but it wasn't until she entered the stable that she saw who it was--Jaime Lannister.  
  
"--but my husband and I would like to speak to you later, at length, about the seriousness of his offer.  Jon would be most honored if you accepted."  
  
"I didn't want to serve my brother in law, I didn't want to serve either of my nephews, and I certainly didn't want to follow Tyrion's example and serve the Dragon Queen.  I'm not going to do it, Sansa."  
  
"Brienne has told us that you are absolutely qualified.  You have her trust, and that counts most highly, with both myself and Jon.  She's quite the woman, and we have come to take her word as a Stark's."  
  
That surprised her, greatly.  Brienne knew that of late, both the King and Lady Sansa had been seeking her counsel more often, but she had no idea that it was taken so seriously and weighted as though she were family.  
  
"You don't have to sing her praises to me; we both know what kind of woman she is.  And it's despicable that you're holding her up as nothing more than a prize to be auctioned off to the King's Hand."  
  
Brienne pulled herself away at that; she hadn't realized that she was being offered as an enticement.  What fools these Starks were; who would see her as anything other than a burden? Or perhaps a consolation; _here, for your troubles as the Hand, here's a wife!_  
  
She missed Sansa's reply entirely:  "You're wrong, Ser Jaime. The offer of marriage is sincere, and completely unattached.  Brienne would be yours, Hand or not, and would be offered to no one else."  
  
\-----  
  
By the time Brienne had made it back to her room, nearly all of the servants had left the hall.  But one boy remained, a young lad of about eight that Brienne was rather fond of. "Randall?"  
  
"Just waiting to see if you wanted a bath, my lord."  
  
"Not tonight.  Go, back downstairs with you.  Get yourself a good place beside the fire."  she ruffled the boy's hair fondly, and went to open the door.  
  
"And here I thought you saved all that sweet talk for Jaime."  Bronn was leaning against the wall across from her doorway, and she hadn't noticed him at all.  "Boy's not yours, I take it."  
  
"Of course not.  He's the son of the saddler," she answered quickly, entering her room.  "What do you want?"  
  
Bronn followed her without being invited.  "Jaime wanted me to tell you that he got his luggage and his clothes not long after you left.  Said one of the boys looked right scared, like somebody put the fear of the gods into him."  
  
"That wasn't me.  I just told them to get a leg on."  Propping her foot on the side of the bed, Brienne yanked off her boots and started on her armor.  "Anything else?"  
  
Bronn watched her for a moment, shaking his head.  "No, just delivering a message."  
  
"All right.  It's delivered. Now get out." She tossed her boots by the fireplace, and donned a pair of fur-lined leather slippers that had been warming and waiting for her.  It would be incredibly easy to get spoiled by that. Although sometimes, taking her own armor off made her miss Podrick a bit.  
  
And then she realized that Bronn had gone, and the door was still standing wide open.  She meant to slam it shut, but a metal hand stopped it in mid-swing. "I'm sorry, did I do something to piss you off?"  
  
A sigh.  "Come in and close the door."  
  
Jaime did as he was bidden, and closed the door behind him.  "You know they're serious about my being Hand?"  
  
"Of course they are."  She didn't stop removing her armor, because around Jaime there was no need for her to be shy.  "Despite you being a stubborn ass about it, you've got the skill and the capability. You'd do well as Hand, if you'd take it."  
  
Jaime drew in close and helped her reach the buckle that held the shoulder plate to the arm.  "I don't want it. What is so hard to understand about that?"  
  
Brienne turned and let him help with the other shoulder buckle, and then placed both pieces on the wooden mannequin, so the plate wouldn't lose its shape.  "Lack of ambition," she answered plainly. "Ambition is not a quality that the Lannisters lack."  
  
Jaime's brow furrowed.  "I'm not my father, nor am I my sister," he pointed out, a little stung that Brienne didn't know him well enough to know that.  "I don't want to be the power behind the throne and I certainly don't want to sit on it. I don't even want Casterley Rock, except there's no one else to take it."  
  
"Oh, come on."  Brienne let the breastplate fall, catching it and placing it on the mannequin as well.  "Nobody's accusing you of that, but I know you well enough to know that you're not going to be happy for long, sitting on that bloody rock twiddling your thumb."  
  
Half a snort of laughter met that.  "All right, fair enough."  
  
"And you're going to have to get busy and produce some legitimate heirs.  I'm sure you and your brother both have enough bastards out there to populate King's Landing, but if you want your House to continue on, you're going to have to take a wife and have sons."  The skirting came off last, and she added that to the mannequin. "And if you're going to attract a lady wife, you're going to need power and a position, and His Grace is offering you that."  
  
Jaime held up his hand in self-defense.  "All right, all right, your point is made.  But what if I want to choose my own wife, and have one that doesn't give a damn for power or position?"  
  
"Good luck finding that," Brienne retorted.  The greaves had come off first, and the thigh plates were the final things she removed, and once the armor was off, she gave a small sigh and sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
To her surprise, Jaime sat beside her.  "I already have a woman in mind," he said, looking at her profile in the firelight.  
  
She didn't notice him looking at her, because she was quite determinedly not looking at him.  "The lady in question would be lucky to have you."  
  
"Yes, she would, and I her," he agreed, studying the line of her jaw in the shadow cast by her cheekbone.  "But I'm not certain that she feels the same way."  
  
Brienne focused instead on Oathkeeper, eyes tracing the leonine head and down the hilt.  "Then she's a fool."  
  
"Or I am one," Jaime muttered under his breath.  That Brienne could not even look at him was not lost on him.  "I'm just not certain that I should force her into marrying."  
  
A shake of her head.  "It is not a woman's choice.  If the marriage is blessed by the King, then she will marry whomever he demands."  
  
"Even if it's me?" Jaime asked.  
  
"Especially if it's you."  A shake of her head. "You underestimate yourself, my lord."  
  
His answering smile was there and gone in a heartbeat.  "You really don't know me if you think that."  
  
"I know you well enough," she countered forcefully, and that comment pulled her full attention onto him and away from the sword.  "Yes, you do think well of yourself, but you aren't half as arrogant as you think you are. You try and hide it from everyone, but you're a decent person, and you don't like it when people insult you or your honor.  But you hide it behind a facade of arrogance and cynicism, so well that people don't think to look beyond it."  
  
But she had seen him at his most vulnerable, and she found it unbelievable that most people could not see beyond that thin veneer that cracked at the edges every time someone had called him Kingslayer or sister fucker.  "They don't know you because you don't let them know you. Let your lady wife know you, and I promise you that she will see you the way that I see you. As a man that is strong, honorable, decent and good. The things that you strive to hide."  
  
Jaime brought his hand up and let it hover millimeters away from her skin; he could feel the heat of her breath brushing against the pad of his thumb.  "Oh, you make me sound like a catch." His hand fell back to his side in the next heartbeat. "Not a broken toy on the shelf that no one wants to play with."  
  
"Thank the Gods you're pretty, because you're an idiot," Brienne retorted.  "You're not a broken toy any more than I am. You lost your hand, so what? You've done great service without it, and no one even gives it a second thought.  You're a Lannister, and that still stands for something. And thanks to you? It stands for something halfway decent now. Not the power-hungry shite that was troweled out by your father, but decency, honor, trustworthiness.  The word of a Lannister can be trusted now, and not just because _a Lannister always pays his debts._ But because Jaime Lannister gives his word and follows through on it.  He is an Oathkeeper, like his sword." Brienne nodded towards the sword that hung off the bedpost.  "Jaime Lannister regained his honor fighting in the DragonWar, and so has House Lannister."  
  
Jaime tilted his head and listened to the passion in Brienne's words.  He followed her glance to the sword, remembering the fervor in her voice when she'd named it the first time.  "One of these days, I'm going to have to marry you," he murmured softly when she was done.  
  
Brienne flushed hard, from her hairline down below the neck of her tunic.  "If you're going to make jokes, you can leave."  
  
"I am unutterably serious," Jaime replied.  "If Jon and Sansa--"  
  
"I can't marry you, even if you are serious, which you're not," Brienne answered, cutting him off.  "You already have another woman in mind to court, and you should court her. You are Lord of Casterley Rock, and I am the Kingsguard.  You know well that Kingsguards cannot marry." Except for the fact that the King and Queen had offered her in marriage to Jaime. But since he was declining the Hand position, he was declining her as well.  
  
"Given that the Queen herself made the offer, I think it's safe to assume that you're being released from the no-marriage obligation," he pointed out quietly.  "However, if you're not interested, that's all you needed to say."  
  
Of course she was interested.  But Jaime could not be, despite his kindness towards her.  When they had both been knights, that would have been one situation.  A knight of equal position could have married a knight, but now, he was Lord of Casterley Rock, and potentially Hand of the King.  What could a knight have to offer that? "Please, my lord," is all she could say, barely above a whisper. "If I had been born lovely, then my father would have found a husband for me many years ago, when I had prospects.  But I wasn't. I was born a woman with the look of a man, and the attitude to match. A knight has no claim on a lord, other than to swear allegiance to and expect that loyalty in return. And you have shown me that, on every occasion, and I am grateful to you for that."  
  
"But that is as far as it goes?"  
  
Nodding was the hardest thing Brienne had ever done in her life.  "That is as far as it _can_ go."  
  
"You're right.  I'm an idiot." Jaime rose from his perch on the side of the bed.  "I'll see you at breakfast in the morning." He picked up her hand and gave the back of it a kiss.  "Until then, my lady."  
  
"Goodnight, Ser Jaime."  
  
"Goodnight, Lady Brienne."


	3. A King's Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Jon, First of His Name, begins trying to convince Jaime Lannister that he'd be a proper Hand of the King.

The next morning was colder than the night before had been, and a crust of frost lay over the deepening snow.  It crunched underfoot in the courtyard, and Brienne was already regretting the fact she was going to miss breakfast.    
  
“Here, Ser!”  Randall popped up beside her, trudging through the shoveled out pathway to the stable.  “It isn’t much, but it’s hot. Breakfast won’t be ready for an hour yet, so I asked the cook’s boy to heat it up for you.”  
  
Brienne accepted the steaming wooden mug gratefully.  “Thank you, Randall.” It was merely last night’s stew warmed in the kettle, but it was deliciously hot nonetheless.  “Pity I can’t take it with me.”

“Lady Sansa said you’d be leaving early with Bran.”  He held up the rough brown sack he’d been carrying over his shoulder.  “It’s just bread and cheese, and a bottle of wine for later, but there’s three loaves of it.  More than enough for the two of you, and you’re supposed to bring him in before it’s dark.”

“Easier said than done.”  But she accepted the bag of food gratefully, draping the bag so that it hung across her chest.  “Please tell Lady Stark that I will take good care of her brother, and there’s no need to worry.”

“Yes, Ser!”  Randall ran back for the warmth of the castle with his message, and Brienne finished her trek to the stable.  

Of course her horse was readied; she’d reminded the boys last night that she’d be leaving at dawn.  Bran was nowhere to be found, until a black raven landed on the hitching post beside the door. She supposed it was summoning her, and she followed it back to the Maester’s office, and knocked.

“Come in, Brienne.”  Bran’s voice was soft, but commanding, and as she opened the door, she caught his eyes turning from white to brown.  “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Lord Stark,” she murmured quietly.  

"I’m not a lord,” Bran pointed out, and rolled his chair back from the table.  “I spoke to the Maester and asked if he could talk to the blacksmith, because I had the thought that if I were going to be out in the snow like this, perhaps a sledge with runners would work better.”

“Runners?” Brienne asked, curiously, and followed Bran’s chair as he wheeled it out of the Maester’s office.  

“You’re from Tarth; there’s probably not a lot of snow in the Sapphire Isles,” he said, rolling through the snow as if it didn’t bother him in the least.  “But here, on our winter wagons, we have runners.” He stopped short at the storage shed and nodded. “You’ll see what I mean.”

Brienne flung the door open, and was shocked to see a wagon without wheels.  Instead of wheels, there were two long, slightly curved pieces of wood and steel attached to the wagon.  However odd they looked to her, she could see instantly how they would run better on snow than a wheeled vehicle.  “These are what they’re called? Runners? They’re incredible.”

“I took them for granted when I was a child; I assumed everyone knew what they were and how they worked.  But until the blacksmith can work on my chair, I’d like to use this wagon. It’s small enough to be drawn by one horse, and it’s much easier to pull than my chair.”  

“I’ll see to it that it’s filled with hay, and throw in some extra blankets,” Brienne offered.  “Your new saddle’s ready, too, if you want to ride out there. Two will pull it better than one, especially with the snow coming down hard as it is.  By nightfall, it’ll be frozen solid.”

Bran nodded.  “For someone who wasn’t born in the North, you’re certainly adapting well.”

Brienne flushed again, pleased at the compliment but having no idea what to say to it.  So she changed the subject, and offered him what was left in the mug. “It’s not much, just last night’s stew, but it’s hot,” she said, repeating what she’d been told.

Bran turned it down with a gentle smile.  “Thank you, but no. Maester Wolkan offered me mulled wine while we were talking in lieu of breakfast.”

Of course he had.  “All right, then if you’ll meet me at the stables, I’ll see about getting this beast pulled out and ready to go.”

“Certainly.”  Bran rested his gloved hands on the spokes of his chair.  “Please tell my sisters not to worry so.” With that, he rolled himself out of the storage room and back into the courtyard.

Brienne finished the soup in a few swift swallows, and felt a prickle at the back of her neck.  Looking around, she saw no one, until she lifted her head. Dying torches from the night’s watch flickered outside of Jaime Lannister’s window, and he was standing there, arms crossed over his chest watching her.  

When he caught her looking, he raised one hand in salutation.  Brienne returned the wave, and Jaime nodded her way. Then he was gone.

\-----

He showed up in the courtyard fifteen minutes later.  Apparently he _wasn’t_ an idiot, because he’d dressed for the Northern weather.  “I heard that you’re escorting young Brandon Stark today?” And yes, this _was_ incredibly awkward, thank you, given that he’d actually tried to kill the boy, once upon a time.  

Water under the bridge, he’d been assured, and yet, it wasn’t like facing a knight you’d maimed in battle.  What he’d done was horrible and dishonorable, and facing Bran reminded him of who he’d been under thrall of Cersei’s cunt.  

Which Brienne was all too aware of.  “Yes, we are, as soon as I get the horses hitched to the wagon.”

“In this weather, a wagon?”  Jaime looked over her shoulder.  “Well, it’s a Winterfell wagon, it won’t get stuck in the snow, at least.  Have you had breakfast?” He held out a spiced pastry wrapped in a rough brown napkin.  “They were putting these out on the sideboard and I thought you might enjoy it before you left.”

“Thank you, it smells lovely.”  And it was still warm and fresh, and she bit into it eagerly.  “Would you like some?” she asked, mortified when she realized she was actually speaking through her mouthful.

And Jaime was grinning at her.  “No, thank you, there’s one for me waiting inside.  I just thought I’d see you off this morning.”

Brienne looked down, and caught sight of his hand.  “You might want to have the blacksmith look at that.  If it gets too cold here, you could get frostburn on your arm.  See if he can pad it with something, leather or fur. Won’t do you any good to get that infected.”

That she was worried about him made his grin widen just a bit.  “I hadn’t thought of that; thank you.”

“Stay in the North awhile, and you’ll pick up these things.”  The pastry was gone in quick order, and she wiped her hands on the napkin it had been wrapped in.  “Are you going to talk to the King today?”

The change of subject soured Jaime’s good mood considerably.  “Aye, he’s already asked to see me right after breakfast. Not sure what we’re going to be doing, outside of drinking.  They’ve got a hot mulled wine that’s delicious. You should take some with you.”

“I need to be sharp,” she pointed out.  “I’m Bran’s only protection.”

“Yes, because he’s in so much danger this close to Winterfell.”  It slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Last time it was _inside_ Winterfell, where he had his troubles.”  Brienne winced inwardly when she said it, but it had to be said.  “As you are no doubt aware, danger can find a man anywhere he sits.”

That it was true made it hurt no less.  “Then he is in the safest hands possible.  I look forward to seeing you at dinner, Lady.”  Jaime bowed to her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m certain your charge is waiting for you.”  

Brienne watched him stalk off angrily, his cape swirling about his calves.  Turning back to the wagon, she kicked the metal runner savagely. Why, why did the things that come out of her mouth never sound like the words of others?  He would likely avoid her the rest of his visit.

Grunting with anger, Brienne pulled the wagon out of the shed with brute force, feeling the runners skid on the icy snow.  Bran was already sitting in his saddle, holding the reins of her horse as they trotted over to her. “Ready to leave?”

\-----

Jaime nearly ran Bronn over when he came back into the keep.  “See your lady off? Wave a handkerchief at her from the wall?  Give her a token of your esteem to wear in her armor?”

“Get out of my way or I’m going to hit you,” Jaime warned.  “And she isn’t my lady.”

“Course not.”  Bronn stepped out of the way, then fell in at Jaime’s side.  “Not like you look at her like she’s carrying your heart off every time she leaves the bloody room or anything.  Not like she watches you when you’re not looking. Bloody disgusting is what it is. Like a couple of mooning calves.”

“I just know there’s a point to this, and if you don’t come to it quickly, it’s going to be the point of my sword in your throat.”

Bronn gave a satisfied smirk.  “No, no point. Just making remark of things I notice.”

“Then why don’t you notice I’m not in the mood?”  Jaime let his hand fall from the hilt of his sword, and let it hang by his side.  “In fact, why don’t you notice that I’d like to be alone?”

“Nah, I was never good at noticing things, me.  Just the obvious stuff, really. Like you wanting to fuck her with your eyes every time you look her way.”

“Bronn!”  Jaime’s shout was filled with exasperation.  “Go. Away.”

Even his parting bow was somehow sarcastic, and Jaime could hear Bronn’s voice in the echoing of his bootheels.  

“Lord Lannister?”  It was one of the young Winterfell boys that Jon used as a page.  “Lord Stark would like to know if you’d join him in his chambers? And he’d like to know if you play chess.”

Play, yes.  Enjoy, no. “Please tell his Grace that I would be delighted to join him if and only if he sets the bloody chessboard on fire.”  When the boy’s eyes widened, Jaime nodded seriously. “Go ahead, he won’t hurt you. Tell him those are my words exactly.”

The terrified boy skittered off, and Jaime was finally, blessedly alone.  At least for as long as it took him to find the master chamber of the house, and knock on the door to ask for entry.  “Come in,” came Jon’s voice.

The door was opened by Lady Sansa, who turned and gave her husband a kiss to the cheek.  “Ser Jaime, thank you for your gifts. Maester Wolkan has informed me that thanks to you, our food stores have now exceeded twelve months.  I hope this hasn’t left you under-provisioned at Casterley Rock?”

“Not at all.”  He kissed the hand that Sansa offered him.  “Our own Maester is keeping careful track of what can and cannot be spared, and we have a twelve-month supply ourselves.  There are still some few fall harvests coming in late, especially from Highgarden. And we have some trade with Dorne, who has less of a winter than either Highgarden or the Rock.  We are in quite good stead, and should we have more to spare, we will send it wherever it is needed most.”

“King’s Landing,” Jon said after a moment.  “Sam--Grand Maester Tarly--tells me that King’s Landing has enough for the Red Keep, but the city itself is in dire need of provision.  What little we’ve been able to spare hasn’t been able to put a dent in the need, but--”

“I’ll send a raven this evening, and have Casterley Rock send all that can be spared to Maester Tarly,” Jaime offered quickly.  “We should have a month or two, at least, that can be sent immediately, and more that can be collected and put aside.”

“Thank you,” Jon answered, and meant it.  “I’ve written to all the other Houses, and asked for spare supplies to be sent to the capital.  Sansa’s taking them to the rookery now, and the ravens will be flying within the hour. You have been by far the easiest to deal with.”

“If my Lady would wait for a few moments, I can write the raven scroll now, and it can be sent out with the others, if you would loan me paper and pen.”

“Of course, help yourself.”  Jon indicated his desk. “Take as long as you like, wax is in the pot on the candle.”  He put his arm around Sansa’s waist, though he didn’t draw her close. “You’re too kind, Ser Jaime.”

“Nonsense.”  Even as he wrote to Maester Yevin, he could hear his father shouting in the back of his mind about not giving things away, how the lions could not cater to the sheep, that the sheep deserved to die if they could not survive on their own.  But every stroke of the pen drowned the old man’s voice out until it was nothing but a whisper as he surveyed his message.

_Maester Yevin--please inventory supplies and fill a wagon with immediate overages to send to King’s Landing.  Send an accounting to me here at Winterfell so that I may turn it over to the King. See what can be set aside every month from the incoming deliveries so that a monthly supply can be sent to the capital._ He signed the scroll, sealed it with wax, and pressed his lion signet into the warm wax so that stared back at him, an unbroken lion’s head that bowed to no one.  “Here, one raven scroll, ready for delivery. I’ve asked Yevin to send an accounting here, so that I can give it to you and you and Tarly can have an accurate count between you.”

“This is why you ought to be my Hand,” Jon pointed out, handing the scroll to Sansa and letting her go.  “Sansa, tell Edwyn not to burn my chessboard, please, and send him back in here.”

“Of course, my husband.”  Sansa kissed his cheek one last time, and put a hand on Jaime’s shoulder.  “Give it honest thought, Ser Jaime. You deserve both.” Then she was gone, in a swirl of leather and fur.  

“That is one hell of a woman you are married to, Your Grace.”  Jaime sat in one of the two chairs by the fireplace, and took a cup of mulled wine.  “And she is determined to see me as happily married as she is.”

Jon sat across from Jaime, taking the second cup and sipping slowly.  “She isn’t wrong. You need a woman, Jaime, one that understands the kind of man she is getting.”

Jaime held up his hand.  “Would you please stop trying to convince me to marry Brienne of Tarth?”

Jon hid his smile in his cup; Sansa had been absolutely right in her prediction that Jaime would be stubborn about admitting that he liked Brienne already.  “I never mentioned her name.”

“Fuck.”  Jaime had no problem swearing before the king, because Jon had played him for a fool.  He’d been so busy thinking about Brienne that the mere mention of a marriage had him spilling his words.  

“Eloquent as always, my friend.”  Jon leaned back in the chair, and nodded when the young boy brought the chessboard in.  “Thank you, Edwyn. Jaime, this is Edwyn, my page. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t terrify him again.”

“I’m sorry, boy,” Jaime said honestly.  “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Run along, now,” Jon said kindly.  “Bring us another pitcher of wine in an hour.”

“Yes, sir, Your Grace.”  The boy shot a look at Jaime and fled.

Jaime waited until the door was closed, and he glared at Jon again.  “I only mentioned her name because you and Sansa offered to serve her up like a lamb!”

“We did no such thing.  We merely offered to make the match between you if you wanted to wed her,” the King said calmly.  

“Yes, and what, exactly, makes you think she would want to marry me?  A one-handed man, Lord of a castle he doesn’t want, a knight that no longer can fight at his King’s command?  A fucking Lannister, my Lord, who has absolutely nothing of worth to offer?”

Jon set his wine down and reached out to put a hand on Jaime’s knee.  “A one-handed man is nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve seen men with no legs fight.  I’ve seen my own brother, sitting in that chair and being a man worth his age. I can’t help you with not wanting Casterley Rock, unless you want me to recall Tyrion from… where is he these days?”

“Setting up a whorehouse in the Citadel,” Jaime answered gloomily.  “And no, I wouldn’t recall him. He’s happy there, and apparently the Maesters of the Citadel are helping with the burns.”  

“I could still recall him and name him head of House Lannister, and give him the castle,” Jon pointed out.  “I wouldn’t, but I could if you liked, so that’s honestly not much of an objection. And I’ve seen you fight.  You still swing a sword with grace and power and skill, even if it’s not the same as you had before. You have a different skill now, a different style, and it certainly stood you in good stead during the DragonWar.”

“And I’m still a Lannister.”

“Well, you could always take her name.  She’s Selwyn’s only heir, and his brother Endrew was slain at the Wall.  You could take the Tarth name, and be Lord Jaime Tarth, head of House Tarth. You wouldn’t have to worry about being a Lannister any more; you’d be a Tarth.”  Jon smirked at him.

“Brienne told me last night, that because of me, the name Lannister has finally started to mean something decent,” Jaime said quietly.  “If she thinks that of me, I’m not sure that I’d want to give that up.”

The smirk grew wider.  “Brienne said, hmm?”

Jaime spluttered a moment, and then dragged his hand over his face.  “Shut up, Your Grace.”

>\-----

Jaime had spent the better part of the morning, and most of the lunch, closeted away with Jon Stark.  Jon had talked and rambled and convinced, Jaime had explained and declined, and they’d met somewhere in the middle with _I’ll think about it, Your Grace,_ and _If you are truly uncomfortable with the position, after some thought on both our parts, I will accept your refusal._

And so now he sat at the desk in his room, writing a scroll to his brother.  

_The King wants me to be the bloody Hand, and won’t take fuck off for an answer.  What the hell should I do?_ That was the gist of the scroll, after brief inquiries about Tyrion’s health and his business venture, and if he needed help with either.   _Honestly, I think I could be a decent whoremaster._ With the raven sent, Jaime stared out the window.  There was a slate grey sky peppering down a solid wall of snow, falling unheeded on a flock of Stark servants in the courtyard.  They were moving about and doing their duty unhindered by the snow, used to the weather.

He most certainly was not used to it, and he made sure to buckle his fur robe around his shoulders before heading down to the blacksmith.  

The smith’s forge was kept blasting, and it was delightfully warm as he stepped nearer the anvil.  “Excuse me, sir?” Jaime called out.

The ring of the hammer was his answer, and Jaime followed the sound behind the forge.  A large sword lay across a bigger anvil than in front, and the tip was still red-hot as the hammering threw sparks.  Then came the hiss of hot steel meeting ice as it was plunged into a trough of cold water, and Jaime cleared his throat and offered greetings again.  “Fine-looking steel,” he admitted.

The smith wiped his gloves on his leather apron, then pulled the insulating rags from his face.  “Thank you, Ser. If you’re looking for a sword, this one’s spoken for by Brienne’s squire, that Podrick fella in the Citadel.  But I can start one for you that’ll be done by the time you leave.”

Jaime pulled the glove off his metal hand.  “Actually, Brienne is why I’m here. She suggested--”

“Aye, that girl.”  The smithy’s voice was full of admiration.  “She wants that lined, don’t she?”

“Yes, in fact,” was Jaime’s surprised answer.  

“Frostburn.  The metal’s so cold it burns the skin.  Come on, let us see it.” The smith held out his hands, and Jaime extended his arm.  

The gold and steel hand came off easily, and Jaime winced as he rubbed the stump.  Even after all this time, it pained him. “How long will it take?”

The smith examined the metal hand, weighing it between his palms and examining Jaime’s stump with rough fingers.  “Half a day, maybe, to get it right. Half an hour, if you don’t care about it fitting smooth.”

“I can wait half a day.”  He felt bare without the hand after all this time, but the wait time would be worth it for a good fit.  “How much?”

“For a friend of the lady?  Nothing.” The smith beamed.  “She’s a great knight and a smart lady.”  

“Yes, she is.”  Jaime couldn’t help smiling; of course she’d have enchanted the blacksmith.

“Got a proper sword too, real Valyrian steel,” the smith rambled on.  “She keeps it good and sharp, polishes it all the time. Sword like that could slice the balls off a flea.”

Jaime couldn’t help sniggering at the image even as he swelled a bit with pride.  “She keeps it in good repair?”

“Like it’s the most precious thing she’s got,” he confirmed, and wrapped a piece of cord around Jaime’s stump at several points, to get the right measurements.  “I always admire a knight who knows how to treat a good sword.” He notched the string at the appropriate places, and turned back to his forge. “I’ll get you a good leather from the tannery, and you’ll want some fur at the base, so it don’t hurt when it goes on.”  Taking a knife from the table of tools, he cut a strip of leather from a strop hanging at the door, and put it on the stump. “It’ll be about that snug; is that gonna be too much?”

Jaime considered the blacksmith’s words and the pressure on his stump.  “No, that’ll be fine. Not much more than that, but that’s fine.”

“Aye. snug but not choking.”  He pulled the strop off, and looked at Jaime curiously.  “You’ll be wanting a sling for it? I got some leather you can use to bind it up until I get the work done tonight.”  

“No, it’s fine.  I’ve got one.” Which was true; he slept with the stump bound against his chest, and he could simply use that until the hand was returned.  “Thank you, for your help.”

“My pleasure, my lord.”  The smith bowed deeply, and held the bow until Jaime was gone.  

\-----

There had been an axe strapped to the side of the wagon, and that had made harvesting firewood simple for Brienne.  She’d gathered what rocks she could unearth from beneath the snow to line a shallow fire pit, and filled it with dry limbs and brush.  The firestarter from her saddlebag sparked like a dream, and she’d built a snug little fire, enough to keep herself and Bran from freezing.  

To keep herself busy, she made sure that the hot rocks from the fire didn’t catch the ground cover ablaze as they melted; the firepit grew deeper as it melted the snow around it, and eventually she packed it in like a tiny little cave.  Then she served up lunch when the sun seemed right, pulling out two loaves of bread and breaking them in half, toasting them over the fire and melting the cheese over the hot bread. Bran had barely surfaced enough to eat, and said barely three words before finishing quickly and falling back into a white-eyed trance.  

She kept herself on alert as the first long shadows of afternoon appeared, a whetstone dragging across Oathbreaker’s edge and honing it to razor sharpness.  She polished the long blade carefully, then almost lovingly polished the lion head hilt and ruby eyes, the twisted gold of the handle spotless and bright. Though it had seen good service in the name of the King, the sword still looked brand new, like it had just been pressed into her hand by Jaime Lannister.

Her gloved hand wrapped around the hilt at the thought.  He would, in all likelihood, ask for the sword back. Widow’s Wail hung in Casterley Rock, she knew--Jaime had told her himself that after Tommen’s death, the sword was hung there.  And whatever lady wife Jaime ended up taking, she certainly would not approve of Brienne carrying Oathkeeper.

Giving that sword back would be something akin to having her heart ripped out of her chest, but she would have to find a way to turn it over and continue on.  Closing her eyes for a moment, she clasped her hands atop the hilt of the sword, and rested her forehead against her hands. “Mother, give me strength.”

The few remaining leaves of the weirwood tree whistled as a sharp wind blew through them, and Brienne kept her eyes shut against the cutting cold.  It managed to wrest a single eye-watering tear that froze on her cheek, and she scrubbed it away before it could reform.

Bran’s voice sounded strained in the cold, as if someone were speaking through him.  “Brienne, Oathkeeper is yours. It’s yours, it will always be yours.”

Her head shot up as the ghost of Jaime’s voice issued from the boy’s throat, speaking to her the words that Jaime had spoke to her at Riverrun.  “What did you say?”

A snowy silence was her only reply.


	4. The North Wind Blows And Carries Down the Distant Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rescue attempt doesn't go quite according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that's a Doctor Who quote. Roll with it.

The earlier greyness in the sky turned to night’s black, and Jaime was watching the courtyard from the family’s dining room.  The servants were bustling about, laying out plates and trenchers of bread, tankards and horns for mead and ale, all while a hot kettle was being stoked on the fire.  It was all mouth-watering, especially the kettle as it smelled like a fresh venison stew. “Thirsty, my lord?”

Jaime looked down, and a small blonde boy of about ten peered back up at him.  He held a steaming pitcher, and Jaime held out his cup. “Yes, thank you.” 

The boy poured the cup full of mulled wine, and gave a furtive glance to the side before his eyes darted to the stump bound to Jaime’s chest.  “You’re Lord Lannister, aren’t you?” 

“Yes I am.”  Jaime sipped from the cup.  “And who are you?” 

“Randall,” came the answer.  “Randall Umber, and his Grace assigned me to the knight Brienne while she is here.” 

Of course he did.  “Well, what can I do for you, Randall of House Umber, squire to Brienne of Tarth?” 

“Not a squire, not yet,” Randall pointed out hurriedly.  “I just fetch the lady’s meals and such, sometimes a hot bath, things like that.  And she’s not back yet, not her nor Bran.” 

“She isn’t?”  That put a different complexion on things.  He’d assumed she was back and getting ready for dinner.  “Thank you, Randall.” He gave the half-full cup back to the boy, and swept out of the castle.   

He nearly bowled Bronn over, who simply switched directions and followed Jaime out.  “Got a reply from your brother,” he said, waving the scroll in Jaime’s direction. 

“Put it away, take it to my room, I don’t care.  I’m riding out to the weirwood. You’re coming with me,” Jaime grumped. 

“Begging your lordship’s pardon, but I shan’t,” Bronn countered.  “Don’t feel the need to have my cock freeze to my saddle.” 

“We’re going to look for Brienne and the boy,” he clarified.  “Be on your horse in ten minutes, or here is where we’ll part ways.” 

“You’re serious?” Bronn asked Jaime’s departing back.   

“Utterly!” came the call as Jaime disappeared around the corner.   

Sighing, Bronn stuffed the raven scroll into the pocket of his leathers.  “I bloody hate this part. At least Tyrion never rode out in the middle of a fucking blizzard to rescue the lady fair.”  But he picked up his pace to the stable, because ten minutes didn’t give him a lot of time to get his sword and knives ready.  “If I have to shank a direwolf, I’m pissing on your pretty Lannister corpse!” he shouted. 

\---- 

Brienne got up and kicked enough wet snow over the fire to put it out.  She’d finished the last of the bread and cheese over an hour ago, and the sky was darkening to a deep dragonglass black.  Her hand fell gently on Bran’s shoulder, shaking him. “Bran? It’s time to go back to the keep.” His eyes stayed white, and she shook him harder.  “Bran!”

The sound of a man cursing, and the hoofbeats of two horses made her turn.  Grabbing for the reins, she moved her horse and Bran’s to the front of the wagon, hitching them with one hand while the other drew Oathkeeper and held it by her leg.  As they drew closer, she left the horses half-hitched and brandished the sword in front of her, taking up a defensive position between the boy and those coming towards them.  As soon as she saw a horse, she swung. 

“Oi!  Watch where you’re swinging that thing, woman!”  Bronn’s horse reared at the near-miss, nearly throwing him from the saddle.   

“Ser Bronn?”  Brienne recognized him as soon as she drew close enough to see through the swirling snow.  “What are you doing out here?” 

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder.  “Ask your fucking boy back there.” 

“Have I ever told you how much I hate the bloody North?” Jaime demanded, pulling up short beside Bronn.  “And hasn’t anyone ever told you when to come in out of the cold?” He raised his good hand when he saw the unsheathed sword still in her hand.  “We come in peace.” 

Brienne slid Oathkeeper back into the sheath, and made sure the buckler on her waist was secure.  “What are you doing out here, my lord?” she repeated, since Bronn hadn’t bothered to answer her question, other than to indicate Jaime.  Which she assumed meant Jaime had somehow, for some reason, dragged Bronn out into the snow. 

Jaime let his hand fall back to pat his horse’s neck when the sword was sheathed.  “There’s a young man from House Umber who is quite worried about his lady,” Jaime teased gently.  “It seems that you have an admirer in young Randall. I might be a little jealous.” 

Brienne flushed, but her windburnt cheeks didn’t show it.  “The boy worries too much about his elders and not enough about his duties,” she grumbled.  “Bran and I were about to head back, as soon as I get him awake.” 

“Let’s you and me get him in the wagon, then,” Bronn said.  “We can lift him between us and put him in, and get you both back to the keep before you freeze to death.” 

Jaime yearned to leap from his horse and lift Bran single-handedly. Instead, he stayed in the saddle and watched as Bronn and Brienne lifted Bran--fur rug and all--and carried him over to the wagon.  The horses stamped their hooves as she settled the boy in, tucking the rug about his shoulders, and turned her attention back to the horses and finishing their equipage. 

She mounted her own horse, but before she could take the reins of Bran’s horse, Jaime’s hand scooped them up and tied them to the pommel of his saddle.  “Let me help you,” he said quietly, and Brienne dropped her hand. 

“As you wish, my lord.”  Brienne let Jaime’s horse set the pace, until it reared up.  At nearly the same moment, Brienne saw why--the worn buckle on Jaime’s saddle had given way and the sudden weight shift had spooked the animal.  “Jaime!” 

“I’m fine!” And he was, for the most part.  He had landed in a deep snow drift, which had padded his fall, but it was freezing him to death inside the armor, which was holding the cold.  “The horse damn near killed me.” 

The commotion was enough to wake Bran up, the wagon rocking back and forth as Jamie’s horse danced back and forth.  “Calm,” Bran said quietly, and his eyes whitened again. The horse’s eyes calmed, the snorting died down, and the nervous stamping stopped in moments.  Once the horse was calmed, Bran slipped out of the horse’s mind. “Brienne, is everything all right?” 

She had already dismounted to check on Jaime.  “Yes, he’s all right. He could use a hot bath and a warm drink when we get him back to the keep, but he’ll survive.”  

Bronn looked at Jaime.  “I’ll make sure the lad gets back all right and I’ll bring you a saddle.” 

Brienne bristled at the thought of Jaime freezing in the snowbank, waiting for a saddle.  “He can ride with me; it wouldn’t be the first time.” 

Jaime’s teeth were already chattering.  “Thank you, Brienne, you’re too kind.” 

She held her hand down to him, and helped pull him up to his feet.  “Go ahead, take the horses and the wagon, and get Bran back to Sansa.”   

Bran offered one of the rugs from the wagon.  “Here, this will help.” 

“Thank you, Bran.”  Brienne wrapped the heavy fur around Jaime’s shoulders.  “There, you’ll be getting warmer in a minute.” Though she didn’t want to leave him standing, Brienne untied her horse from the wagon and led it back over to where Jaime stood.  “Can you mount?” 

Bronn’s snigger was loud enough to echo around the godswood.  But a seething glare from Brienne shut him up. 

“Of course I can ride,” Jaime answered.  And even if he couldn’t, he wasn’t about to admit it in front of Bronn or Brienne. 

Brienne gave him a foot up as Bronn and the wagon got moving again.  Once Jaime was settled, Brienne boosted herself behind Jaime, her arms reaching around his waist to guide the horse’s reins.  “Lean back against me, my lord. The heat will help you get warm again.”

Jaime was shivering hard inside the armor, the snow melting between their pooled body heat and soaking his wet clothes even further.  “Remind me not to do a good deed again… ever.” 

Brienne laughed softly as she flicked the reins on the horse to get it moving.  “I told the stableboy to get your saddle checked, he said the buckle was weak. We’ll talk to the saddler first thing in the morning.”   

The horse whickered softly, tossing its mane in the wind as it turned back towards the keep.  Jaime leaned back against Brienne. “You know, if word gets out about this, your reputation is going to be grand.  Lady Brienne, Knight and Kingsguard, saver of both lords and damsels in distress. All you’ve got to do now is slay a dragon, and you’ll have hit the perfect trio.”  He coughed hard as the wind cut through the armor and whistled through his cape. 

“I don’t give a damn about my reputation,” she pointed out, keeping the horse steady with one hand.  The other found the rug’s edges and tucked it more tightly around Jaime’s body. “And I don’t think they’re going to write songs about the Lord who fell off his horse into a snowbank.”  There was a long pause. “Although I suppose it would be quite a funny song. For nameday celebrations and the like.” 

“If I ever hear of it, I will personally strangle you,” Jaime promised, but he was smiling all the same.  Smiling through the coughing, anyway.

Brienne didn’t like the sound of the coughing set in so quickly, and she tapped the horse’s side gently with her heels to speed it up.  “I wouldn’t do that to you, my lord.”

An exasperated, raspy sigh.  “You can call me Jaime, you know.”

A long pause.  “I know,” came the nearly silent reply, and the words were almost drowned out by the wind.   

Jaime closed his eyes against the wind and the snow, letting his head fall back to rest on Brienne’s shoulder.  “I’m looking forward to a fire and a hot cup of stew,” he said after a moment.

“You’ll need a hot bath first,” she pointed out.  “And some dry clothes. Then, hot food.” 

“Always the practical one,” Jaime bemoaned.  “Brienne, haven’t you ever done anything impractical in your life?”  He angled his head on his shoulder to catch a better look at her face.   

“Yes.  I agreed to escort a prisoner to King’s Landing for my Lady Catelyn.”  A small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. “That was most impractical.” 

“But fun,” Jaime offered.  “Maiming aside, it was fun.” 

There was no one else to hear, and so Brienne admitted the truth.  “Oh, gods yes. Much more fun than anything I’d done before or since, to be honest.”   

Jaime’s smile came back full force at that.  “I knew you missed me, wench.” 

Brienne violently shrugged her shoulder so that his head snapped forward.  “Do you want me to dump you off again?” 

What started as Jaime’s laughter ended up in a deep, hacking cough that left him breathless in the cold as they crossed into the courtyard.

 ----- 

With a deep sigh, Jaime lowered himself into the tub of hot water.  It was a luxury, he knew, to have this much heated water, and he relished every bit of it.  More buckets sat warming by the fireplace, in case a refill was needed, but for now, his skin had pinked back up nicely and the steam helped to soothe the cough that still wanted to rattle about in his chest.   

The young boy Randall had brought Jaime dinner on a heavy wooden tray, and laid it across the tub.  A steaming bowl of venison stew, fresh baked bread and thick slices of goat cheese, a Highgarden apple that had been peeled, cored, and quartered, and a tankard of hot mead to top it off.   

He’d caught the boy before he’d left, and ascertained that Brienne was being similarly serviced, with a hot bath and a tray of her own.   _Don’t worry, my Lord, we’ll take good care of Brienne for you._  

He’d almost shouted at the boy to get out, but had managed a smile and a few words of grateful thanks.  Apparently the entire bloody household was out to matchmake him, and for a few moments he considered giving in gracefully.   

He could almost imagine Brienne in a dress of gold and ivory--not white, good gods, never white.  But ivory, so pale and soft that it was almost the color of her skin. A veil, of course, or perhaps a headband with sapphires, to showcase the blue of her eyes.   

And then he laughed aloud, because that was certainly not the woman he knew.  The picture changed immediately, to fine leathers and a tailored tunic emblazoned with the Stark direwolf done in silver and blue threads.  Yes, that was more the Brienne that he knew, with the sword wrapped around her waist and a cloak thrown over her arm. Because of course, if he cloaked her, she would insist on cloaking him as well.   

Although he did quite enjoy the thought of the wedding night.  Or perhaps bypass the wedding entirely, and find a willing septon who would accept a bagful of Lannister gold to do away with all the folderol of a wedding and marry them in secret simplicity.   

That was the most attractive option yet, as he thought about it.  Brienne and he in front of the septon, speaking the words of the marriage ceremony to one another with no one there to ruin anything for either of them.  Then a red cloak draped around Brienne, and a silver furred cape around his own, because they would marry as equals. He’d have it no other way. A cloak for a cloak.   

And then he laughed to himself again, more at himself than in real amusement.   _You are pathetic if you think she’d marry you after all this.  You can’t even sit a bloody horse any more, Lannister._  

The water in the tub was getting cooler by the moment, and he was warm enough.  Standing tall, he reached for the towel that hung close by as someone knocked on his door.  “Come in,” he called out, assuming Bronn.

And then he wished he hadn’t, as Brienne opened the door, flushed red, and closed it again immediately.  “May I enter, my Lord?” came muffled through the wood.

 Jaime had flushed as soon as Brienne opened the door, and he hastened to wrap the towel around his nudity.  “Give me a moment, my lady,” came his reply, even as he hunted through his wardrobe to find his dressing gown.  He pulled it on in a rush, tied it around his waist, and pulled the towel out to drape around his shoulders instead.  “Please, enter.” 

“Are you decent?” came the prim-sounding question.  

“Morally, of course not, but if you mean am I dressed, the answer is yes.”  Jaime grinned at the door as Brienne peeked around it. “I told you so.” 

Brienne made a sort of scoffing noise deep in her throat as she came in.  “I already spoke to the saddler, and he’ll fix your saddle right away, so it’s ready by morning.  But I really stopped by to bring you this.” She held out the finely wrought metal hand that now had a soft leather lining and unobtrusive fur trim around the gauntlet’s edge.  “Roynan says that the leather liner can be taken out and replaced, or just taken out if you’d rather not wear it all the time. You can keep it in, of course, but if you’d rather the plain metal after you’ve left here, then you can have that, too.” 

Jaime took the metal hand and examined the leatherwork inside, running a thumb over the fur.  “That feels wonderful,” he admitted, letting Brienne take the hand back. “If you would?” 

“Of course.”  Brienne held the hand steady, waiting as Jaime dried it with the towel and slipped it into the cuff.   

He expected to wince, as he always did, as the rough metal abraded his skin, but the slide of supple leather was a pleasant surprise.  It felt almost like flesh touching flesh, and the snug fit of the leather liner against his stump was a pressure, but not the heavy scraping weight that he was used to with the bare metal.  “If your smith can make a second liner, without the fur trim, I would pay.” 

“Roynan won’t take your gold.  But if you like, you could send Gendry with one of his hammers.  The boy’s a marvel at forging both weapons and tools, and it would thrill Arya to see him again.”   

“Isn’t he at Storm’s End now, as he’s Robert’s only trueborn?”  That subject skirted the subject of his own children--all dead, and this discussion was as close as he ever wanted to get to it.  

“Yes, he is, and even though he’s still considered the Lord of the Castle, he still works in the forge when he can.  It irritates his Maester no end, but His Grace has ordered it to be so; Gendry has been legitimized and is now Lord Gendry, Head of House Baratheon.  And, if Sansa has her way, he will be betrothed to Arya as soon as she’s a little older,” Brienne explained. She had heard it all before, multiple times. 

“And Lady Sansa always has her way, does she?”  Jaime was shaking his head. 

“Of course she does.  She’s the Queen, and the Wardeness of the North.  I’d like to see the man or woman who thinks they can stand in the way of Lady Sansa.”  Brienne’s voice was full of obvious adoration for her liege. “She’s a lot like her mother.  She has Lady Catelyn’s courage, I think.” 

“You do realize, we are both telling her no,” Jaime pointed out. 

“I hadn’t thought of that.”  Brienne looked thoughtful. “I should not decline my Lady’s wishes, although I have told her, I will be obedient to all she commands.” 

“Oh, so I’m the only one who’s telling her no.  Thank you, for that.” The sarcasm was heavy in Jaime’s voice.  “Might as well give in gracefully, I suppose.” 

That got her attention.  “Then you’ll say yes to the King?” 

“I never said that!”  Jaime held his hand up in defense.  “I said I would agree to Lady Sansa’s offer.”   

A look of guarded wariness came over Brienne’s face.  “And that offer was?” 

“A wife,” Jaime said plainly.  “You, in fact.”

Her spine stiffened and her shoulders straightened, making her draw back as if she’d been struck.  “You cannot be serious.” 

“Why not?  Everyone else in this castle seems to think that you and I should already be fucking, including the King and the Queen.  So who are you and I to say no to that?” 

Brienne got to her feet slowly, the wariness being replaced by disgust.  “Is that all that it is, then? Everyone else thinks you should do it, so you’ll just go ahead and grasp whatever is nearest?  What about the lady you claimed to think so highly of before? Do you think so little of her that you can replace her with the nearest scrub and not think of her again?” 

Before she got to the door, Jaime put his fist against it and held it closed.  He danced back enough to avoid the punch to his ribs, but he did not let the door open.  “And I thought that you knew me better than that. If I had made any sort of promise, to anyone, regarding anything, I would not so blithely turn my back on my oath.” 

“Then go back to your lady and leave me be!” Brienne shouted.  “I didn’t ask for this!”

“I never asked for this either, but you cannot help who you fall in love with!” was Jaime’s answering shout.  His breath rattled deep in his chest, but he did not cough. His hand stayed pressed against the door, leaning his weight on it so that Brienne could not run.  

She punched him anyway, a cross to the jaw that sent him sprawling backwards.  He hit the floor hard, and by the time he was back on his feet, she had fled the room and slammed the door behind her.  


	5. Break My Heart For I Must Hold My Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The engagement that might have been, definitely isn't.

A rapid tattoo of knocks on Sansa and Jon’s bedroom echoed loudly in the chamber.  Jon rose from behind his desk and opened the door himself, expecting anyone but a distraught Brienne.  “Ser Brienne!”

“Where is Lady Sansa?”  Brienne did not know whom else she could speak to; she had few friends and no family, with Sansa being the closest she had to both.  “Please, Your Grace, I need to speak with her.”

“She’s downstairs with Maester Wolkan.  Come in; I’ll send one of the boys to fetch her.”  With his own hand he poured her wine, and gave her the cup.  “Drink. All the way down,” he said kindly, and went to the door.  Edwyn was only a few doors down, and the boy came immediately when called.  “Go to Maester Wolkan’s cell, and tell Lady Sansa that Ser Brienne is waiting for her in her chambers.  It is, I believe, fairly urgent.”

The boy pelted down the hallway to the staircase, and soon skidded out of sight.  Closing the door, he turned to Brienne, who had emptied the cup without question. “Is everything well, Ser?”

A negative shake of her head.  “Of course, Your Grace.” 

That was a mixed message that he did not know what to make of.  “Sansa will be here in just a few moments,” is all he could think to offer.  

“You’re far too kind, Your Grace.”  Brienne held the empty cup tightly between her hands, and startled slightly when Jon refilled it himself.  “Your Grace, please. You shouldn’t serve--”

“I can pour a glass of wine for a friend, can’t I?”  Jon set the wine pitcher down in the edge of his desk.  “Help me give Edwyn something to do; Jaime’s frightened him by threatening to burn my chessboard, and he’s quite happy when he can run and do things.  I don’t drink nearly enough to justify a refill, so please. Help me empty it so I can send him for more.” 

Brienne fell silent; Jon was the King and could do anything he wanted, up to and including playing cupbearer for a knight.  “Thank you.” 

There was an awkward silence until Sansa swept breathlessly into the room.  “Thank you, Jon. Brienne, what has happened?” 

“I’ll leave you to it.”  Jon gave Sansa a gentle kiss to the forehead, and closed the door behind him.  

Sansa acknowledged the kiss with a squeeze to Jon’s hand, and then focused her attention on Brienne.  “Are you well?”

“No, my lady.”  She let the wine goblet go when Sansa pulled it out of her hands, and nearly jerked away when they were clasped by Sansa’s hands.  “I am not well.”

“What’s troubling you?”  She pulled Brienne to the window seat, sitting beside her so that they were knee to knee and face to face.  

“It’s Ser Jaime.”  Brienne couldn’t bring herself to meet Sansa’s eyes.  “My Lady, you must withdraw your offer to him. He has said that there is another lady that he thinks of, but that he will agree to what you demand.  Do not make him break his oaths, I beg you. Free him from your obligation and let him return to the lady he desires.”

Sansa was taken aback; she and Jon had been so certain!  “And what of you, my lady? What do you want?”

“To continue to serve, in the Kingsguard or in any other way you would command me, Lady Sansa.  The honor of your service is enough for me.” 

Sansa had no doubt of that, and she said as much.  “Of that I am certain, but what about your duty to your father, to your House?  You are the only heir to House Tarth, and even if your husband does not wish to take on the name of Tarth, your children would be the bloodline that continues the House of Tarth.  Or would you see that House die with your father?”

“I would see my father with a decent heir, a daughter that was beautiful and a son that was strong.  Unfortunately he was saddled with me, a daughter that is more of a son and more strong than lovely. I will bear no children because no man would be saddled with me.  Allow the King to choose an heir for my father’s House, and I will cede the birthright. Surely there are many second sons that would be appropriate.” 

That stunned Sansa as well, because she could not, not even at the risk of death, imagine giving up her inheritance as Lady Stark.  The name of Stark was her identification, her birthright, and after Robb’s death, her responsibility to ensure the continuance of the name and the House.  Even Jon had given up the Targaryen name to take the name of his father, and become Jon Stark when they had wed. “That is a serious consideration, Brienne.  Are you sure that is what you want to do?”

Brienne nodded.  “I’m certain, my Lady.  I had given up all hope of marriage long before I came into your service, although I will certainly follow your commands should you desire it of me.  I do understand that alliances need to be forged.”

“Then let me speak to Jaime about this, and I will let you know what comes of it,” Sansa offered, rising to her feet.  “Meanwhile, thank you for taking such care of my brother today. The weather won’t be good enough for several more days, and he’ll be stuck in the keep.  It means a great deal that you took him out today.”

“It was my pleasure, my lady.”  Brienne knelt before Sansa, and was raised by a hand to her shoulder.  “Please, reconsider. Allow Ser Jaime to keep his honor.”

“I will.”  Sansa resisted the urge to touch Brienne’s hair, or touch her cheek, or any of the other comforting gestures she had learned from her mother.  She settled for a gentle squeeze to Brienne’s forearm, and dismissed her with a quiet nod. As soon as Brienne had disappeared out of the hall, Sansa called for her husband’s page.  “Edwyn, fetch Ser Jaime Lannister here, and be quick about it. Tell him that his Queen demands an immediate audience.  Drag him in his smallclothes if you must.”

“Yes, my lady!”  The boy bolted from the room as Sansa started to pace.

\-----

“Go away!” Jaime roared at the tentative knock on his door.  He had no interest in seeing anyone, especially anyone who knocked so fucking timidly.  

“But my Lord!  Queen Sansa demands an audience right away!”

Jaime stomped over and flung the door open, ready to chastise the speaker until he recognized the young page from earlier.  “The Queen sent you?”

“Yes, my Lord, and said to fetch you in and be quick about it, because the Queen demands an audience!”  the boy was breathless from his run, but was standing straight as he delivered the message.

“Well, then, I suppose I should put my boots on, if you’ll kindly wait in the hall.”  Jaime half-closed the door and pulled his boots over, shoving them onto his feet and buckling his belt around his waist.  He left off his cape, and made sure his shirt was fully laced before presenting himself in front of the mirror. He looked acceptable for an audience; fully dressed, the House Lannister sigil around his neck, his hand shined to gleaming.  

Tyrion’s scroll got tucked into the drawer by the bed, for later reading, because he’d barely unrolled it before he’d gotten irrationally furious at Brienne, again, and tossed it to the floor.  One had nothing to do with the other, and yet he could not get her out of his head. Hopefully the Queen would take care of that. 

“All right, boy, lead the way to the Queen’s chamber,” he ordered gently after emerging into the hallway.

“Yes, sir, this way please!”  He looked quite proud of himself for obeying the Queen’s orders so quickly, and Jaime just shook his head.  

_ Was I ever that naive? _ he wondered in silence.  

Arriving at the Queen’s chamber, Jaime realized he was being taken to Jon and Sansa’s personal bedchamber, which he supposed made sense.  It was the master’s bedroom, after all, and Sansa was master of Winterfell. “My Queen, I am here to attend you,” Jaime said, bowing at the waist.

“Thank you, Edwyn.  You may go, but remain close until you’re called for again.  Ser Jaime, please, close the door and have a seat.” Sansa was already seated in one of the chairs by the fireplace with a lap rug tucked around her legs, and Jaime sat across from her.  

“Your boy told me the matter was urgent, my lady?” he asked, once he was settled.  

“Yes, it is rather.”  Her fingers smoothed the fur over her knees.  “May I ask what lady has so taken your fancy that you feel obligated to refuse our offer of alliance?”

“I…”  Jaime was bewildered.  “I beg your pardon?”

“We have been reliably informed that there is another lady that has drawn the interest of Jaime Lannister,” Sansa repeated, as if to an idiot child.  “We would like to know who the lady in question is, and whose alliance is more valuable than that of the King’s family.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Jaime said simply.  “There is no other woman. At least, none that I know of. I’ve only ever had the one proposal, and it was the same that you made me at dinner the other night.”

Sansa’s brow furrowed.  “Then why do we hear of another?  And why does Brienne of Tarth come to us and beg that we release you from this obligation so you may honor your oath to this woman?  Because if you have been playing Brienne falsely--”

“Brienne,” Jaime said, as if that explained everything.  And it did. “Brienne has quite determinedly and deliberately misunderstood what I told her.  Which was simply that there was already a woman I wanted for myself, but would not have me. That woman is her, my Queen.  As I spoke to your husband earlier, there is far more evil than good about me, and while I might have… certain… feelings, regarding Brienne, I am now more certain than ever that she would have no interest in marrying me.”

“Brienne has begged me to release you from your obligation, and allow her to remain in the Kingsguard.  And I am going to do so. My husband and I would still favor the match quite heavily, but we will not force you or her into a union that you do not want.  If you decide that you want her, you will have to ask her yourself. The same will go for her; if she desires you, she will speak it. I will have no part in forcing Brienne into anything.  She is like a sister to me, and I would treat her accordingly. I would have you do the same.” 

That was a clearly spoken warning if he had ever heard one.   _ She is a Stark, a part of the pack, and we will defend her. _  “I understand, Your Grace.”  

“Good.  We will announce tomorrow that the offer has been withdrawn with no ill will, and that you are welcome to stay on as long as you like, even after the snow passes.  However, if we find that you have played Brienne false, our wrath will fall.”

“Believe me, Your Grace, I harbor no falsity towards you or your kin, including Brienne,” Jaime reassured her.  

Sansa just nodded.  “Thank you for coming so quickly to our audience, Ser Jaime.”

There it was; the cold dismissal that his sister had been so fond of.  Every so often, Jaime could see a bit of Cersei here and there in Sansa’s words, in her behavior, in her movements.  With everything that Sansa had been through at Cersei’s hands, it was not in the least surprising that she had picked up the smallest, least poisonous bits.

Jaime just bowed, taking his leave and returning to his room.  He found it without an escort, and and dropped heavily on the bed.  His brother’s scroll waited in the drawer, and he pulled it out to read it.  

_ Refuse flat out, and if they don’t listen, set the keep on fire.  They won’t want a pyromaniac as the King’s Hand. It’d give them a bad name, seeing as how Jon gave up the Targaryen name.  As for the woman, why in God’s name wouldn’t you marry her? Podrick won’t shut up about her, so she’s obviously worth something.  Marry her, leave her at Casterley Rock with a baby in her belly, and come to Oldtown. I’ll make you Master of Whores at my new establishment.  We’ll get drunk every night and fuck ourselves to sleep with gorgeous women. To be serious, I mean it. Marry her and be happy, brother. You deserve it, after everything you’ve been through.  We both do, and I’ve found my slice of heaven here. Find yours, my brother. _

Jaime tossed the scroll onto the pillow, half considering the offer.  Master of Whores didn’t sound all that terrible at this point, and he could certainly use the relaxation.  But what made him laugh was the blatant disgust at the mention of Podrick’s incessant talk about Brienne. “Oh, brother, I’d be just as bad as your squire,” he said to the empty room, and dragged his good hand over his face.  Of all the things he had expected the audience to be about, he had not expected that.

He fell asleep just like that, sitting up against the headboard of the bed, Tyrion’s scroll falling into his lap, and then on the floor as he nodded off.  


	6. Enter Giantsbane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell is a busy place; first the Lannisters visit, and now Tormund Giantsbane comes to court Brienne.

The morning put him in an even fouler mood.  He--and the rest of the household--had been wakened by the blast of a horn, and it had heralded the arrival of a burly, bushy-bearded redhead wildling.  He’d witnessed from his bedroom window the man’s arrival and welcome by the king--a huge embrace and the clasp of comrades.

At breakfast, he had been introduced to “Tormund Giantsbane, holder of Eastwatch and my friend.”  

The wildling bastard had damn near wrenched his arm off shaking it, but had dropped it as soon as Brienne had entered the room.  “My wife to be!” he bellowed out, swaggering across the room towards the Lord’s table.

Brienne shoved him a few steps back, obviously exasperated.  “I’m not going to tell you again, I’m not going to bloody marry you!” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.  “Not you or anyone else for that matter!”

“Aye, you will, one of these days you’ll realize just how much you’ve come to love me.”  He rubbed his arm where she’d shoved him. “Little love taps like this aren’t anything.”

“Bother me again and I’ll tap your nose with my fist,” she threatened, and turned her attention to the King’s arrival.

Tormund elbowed Jaime.  “That’s my woman right there.”

_ Over my dead and rotting corpse, wild man. _

\-----

Brienne seethed silently as Jon and Tormund sat with their heads together.  She knew from previous conferences that he was here to give report on the final stages of rebuilding the Wall, the number of men in the Watch, who had joined, and what their supplies were like.  But that didn’t mean she liked the wildling any more than she had the first time they’d met, or any meeting subsequent. 

She had seen Tormund and Jaime sharing boasting laughter and tossed elbows, and it only made her seethe further, certain that she was the subject of their ribald whispers.  In her angrier moments, she wished to put Oathbreaker through both their necks and spit their heads on pikes over Winterfell’s gates. But that sort of thing was no longer done, not under the rule of King Jon, First of His Name.  Or Seventh, depending on if you thought of him as Jon Stark or Aegon Targaryen. Which she most certainly did not.

She was quite glad that she was seated beside Sansa, far away from the other end of the table, where Tormund sat beside Jon and Jaime beside Tormund.  

“And when are you going back South, Jon Snow?” Tormund demanded.  

Brienne grit her teeth.   _ It’s Jon Stark now, or your Grace, you ignorant ass. _

“Actually, it should be Your Grace,” Jaime corrected, to Brienne’s surprise.

“Piss off,” was the predictable reply.  “I’ve known Jon Snow since he was a baby crow, I’ll call him what I bloody like.”  Tormund turned back to Jon. “You going to stick out the winter up here?”

Jon gave a wistful sigh.  “I wish that I could, my friend.  Unfortunately, King’s Landing is the seat of the King, and I’ll have to return in a month or two.  I’ll wait out this snow, and see when the next blizzard rolls in, and decide then. But I can’t winter up here any longer, not when they’re lasting five years or more.”

Tormund slapped Jon on the back.  “You’re getting soft!” he roared, laughing loudly.  “From Lord Commander of the crows to the bloody King!”  Then he got sober in a hurry. “We need more men on the Wall.  It’s near done, but it’s not going to be like it was before. When the dragon broke it, it broke the magic in the roots.  We can rebuild the Wall and shape the ice, but we’ve got nobody who can root it--”

“I can.”  Bran spoke up softly from his place beside Brienne.  “I know how to do it, I’ve seen it done. It won’t be easy, since the Children are gone, but it can still be done.”

“Bran, are you sure you’re able to go to the Wall?”  Sansa was concerned about her brother. 

“I’m certain.  My new saddle is ready and works just fine, and Brienne helped me test out the winter wagon.  I can ride until we get to the ice, and then my horse can pull the wagon. Load the chair in the wagon with me, and once we’re inside Castle Black, it shouldn’t be any more difficult to move around there than here.”  

Tormund nodded.  “Aye, we’ve got a lot of strong backs that can help the lord out, lifting the chair and such.”

“Tonight I’ll make a list of the things I need.  Maester Wolkan will have some of it, but some of it will have to come from beyond the wall.  If I send a raven to Eastwatch, can it be gathered?”

“Depending on what it is, yeah.  Send it to Castle Black, too, to the Lord Commander there.  Edd, his name is.”

“Eddison Tollet,” Jon added.  “After I left, I made Edd the interim Lord Commander, and the brothers elected him not long after.  He’s been fair, and I trust him to watch out for Bran. They’ve met, at the least, and Bran’ll be in good hands.”  

“Yes, please, don’t worry.  I’ll be fine.” Bran gave a smile that was meant to be reassuring, but ended up slightly distracted.  “Two scrolls will be ready in an hour,” he offered to the room at large, and one of the teenage pages pulled Bran’s chair back from the table and, “To my room, please.”  

“Of course,” the boy answered, and Bran was rolled out of the hallway, followed by a lot of curious looks.  

Tormund just shook his head.  “Never seen a real warg before, have you?” he asked the room.  “We know how to take care of lads like him and nurture that talent.  We’ll get him to the heart tree and protect him from whatever’s out there.”

"I’ll send Ghost with you,” Jon decided.  “He’ll help you look after him.” 

“Aye, there’s few that’ll tangle with a direwolf, that’s for sure!”  He dug into his plate of food as if that ended the discussion--because for him, it had.  

Jaime had no idea what was being discussed.  “Rooted? The Wall?”

Jon leaned around Tormund to answer.  “The Wall was built by my ancestor, Brandon Stark.  Bran the Builder, he was called. But when the Wall was built eight thousand years ago, after the first Night King, Bran and the Children of the Forest worked together to put magic in the roots of the Wall.  Nothing dead can cross it. Until Viserion destroyed a part of the Wall, that magic held. But when he shattered it, the dead could cross. Now that we’re rebuilding the Wall, Bran is going to put the magic back.”  

“Magic,” Jaime scoffed.  “The Children of the Forest are a myth.”

“They aren’t.  My brother met one, and learned from an immortal man named Three-Eyed Raven.  Bran is now the Raven, and he has learned the magic of the Children,” Jon said calmly.  “If any man can return the magic to the Wall, it is my brother.” 

Jaime held his tongue after that explanation, although he still didn’t believe in the Children, the Three-Eyed Raven, wargs, or magic.  

“Would you like for me to go with him, my lady?” Brienne offered. 

“Oh, I certainly would.  However, you cannot be spared from the Kingsguard.  I trust the brothers of the Night’s Watch to ensure my brother’s safety, but I trust my husband’s safety to none but you.  But I thank you for the offer, more than I can say.” 

Brienne flushed at the vote of confidence.  “I would do anything to give you peace of mind.”  

“As I would for you, Brienne.”  She rose to her feet. “Lord Jaime Lannister, it had been brought to our attention that we were unkind in surprising you with our offer of marriage to our beloved sister, Brienne.  Therefore the offer is rescinded, with no stain on your honor or the honor of your house. We wish you all the best in your future alliance.” 

There was an undercurrent of whispering after Sansa took her seat again, and Jaime didn’t know what to say, other than “Thank you, Your Grace.  You do us a great kindness.”

Sansa merely inclined her head and turned the conversation back to other subjects.  “How many more men do you need for the Wall?”

Tormund finished his bread before answering.  “A good thousand, at least. To get it started, we’d be happy of five hundred.  There’s seventeen castles along the Wall, only have about four of them manned. After the DragonWar, we manned Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower, Castle Black, and Edd sent a few to the Nightfort.  Five hundred would let us fully man and repair those four, and another five hundred would let us man Stonedoor, Oakenshield, and Long Barrow.” 

“Leaving eleven completely unmanned and in dire need of repair and upkeep,” Jon continued sadly.  “Before the Five Kings, we had barely a thousand men. Even with Tormund and the free folk, it’s still less than that.  The losses at the Night King’s attack on the Wall, and later the DragonWar, has taken it’s toll on the Night’s Watch. We need to recruit more men, though there’s none to be had.  Too many now see it as a place for murderers and thieves, rapers and bastards. Even bannermen to the larger Houses won’t send their children, unless they’re like Randyll Tarly and want to be rid of their sons.”  And yes, Jon was still bitter, even though the old man was long dead now. “Even if I ordered ten men from every house, there’d still never be enough. The Night’s Watch is dying a slow, dishonorable death, and I don’t know how to stop it.”  

“Stop conscripting criminals, for a start.  Taking the Black should be looked at with honor, not as a way to escape punishment.  I know that the Watch has been desperate for men, and that’s why it began, but it’s a practice that needs to stop,” Jaime commented.  “If you want good men to come, you have to give them a place worth coming to, not a place full of men they’d never piss on if they were on fire.”  

“Easier said than done, Ser Jaime.  If we don’t conscript, then no one will join.  And the Watch will die off,” Jon pointed out. “If it were easy as that, then it’d been done.”  

“That’s only the first part of it.  When you get back to King’s Landing, put out the word that the criminal conscripts are ended.  Then, send out letters to all your kingdoms, and ask that the second, or third sons, depending on the size of the family, be sent to the Wall.  Let it be understood that they won’t be sent back unless here’s a family tragedy, because the first sons will be there to handle it. But for second and third sons?  This is a chance to make their names with honor, which they certainly won’t have as second and third inheritors. It might actually help some of the poorer families, Your Grace, in that they’d have less mouths to feed.  If there’s a family with three sons, sending two of them to the Wall would guarantee the family’s survival. The boys might not get paid, but they wouldn’t be eating the family’s food either. They’ll be living and working at the Wall, learning the soldier’s trade in return for food and a bed.”

Jon sipped quietly from his horn as he gave thoughtful consideration to Jaime’s words.  “Perhaps too, when summer comes again, some of the men could be assigned to working farms in the Gifts, to help provide supplies to the Wall and what’s not used could be sent back to their families.”  

“Or sold in Mole’s Town, and the money could be sent,” Sansa suggested.  “Or Winterfell would gladly pay for excess supplies, even in summer, to stock for later winters.”

“And there’s two partitions of land,” Jon added.  “Tormund and the free folk have the New Gift farms, but there’s plenty of fallow lands in Brandon’s Gift.  If the sons are already married, or have betrothals, it might be possible to bring those families to Brandon’s Gift and give them farms there, so that they are not wholly separated from their husbands.  Those that are not married would be required to take the same oaths of celibacy that all brothers take, but those that are married could be made exceptions for, and allowed to live with their families.” To be honest, Sam would have enjoyed that arrangement with Gilly and Little Sam, and Jon imagined that there were others who would accept it as well.  

“Better get Edd down here before you go changing all these rules on him,” Tormund grunted.  “See what he thinks of it before you swoop in all kingly and make demands.”

“That’s not a bad idea.  Ser Jaime, how long are you going to remain at Winterfell?”

“Your Grace?  So long as it please you to have me as your guest,” was the answer he gave, surprised that he was being consulted.  

“Excellent.  You’re going to stay at least for the next month.  Edd should be down here by then, and I think I will find your counsel invaluable.”

_ Might as well pin the bloody thing on my chest and get it over with. _  “It would be my honor, Your Grace.”

“If it is his honor, why does he look like he’s just sucked on a lemon?”  Brienne stifled a giggle when Sansa leaned over to whisper in her ear. 

Jaime’s eyes snapped over to the two women when he heard Brienne’s stifled laugh.  He knew the laugh well, had heard it more than once, and his eyes narrowed because he had a sneaking suspicion that they were laughing at him.  Well, it wouldn’t be the first time someone had laughed at his expense, and probably wouldn’t be the last. 

“I’ll go send him a bird then,” Tormund said, getting up and casting a doe-eyed glance Brienne’s way.  “My lady.”

The amusement was gone as Brienne shouted after the departing wildling.  “I am not your lady!”

\-----

Jaime knocked on the door of the King’s chamber.  “Come!”

The doors were unlocked, and Jaime closed them after himself.  He dropped into the empty chair by the desk, and immediately crossed his arms over his chest.  “If you think that asking me to give you my advice to the Lord Commander is going to change my mind, then you’ve lost your mind.”

“Hello, Jaime.  Please, come in.  Be seated, have some wine.  Breakfast was delicious, thank you for asking.  I’m glad to see you’re enjoying Winterfell’s hospitality.”

Jaime scoffed.  “I’m sorry, Your Grace.  Thank you for having me; I enjoyed breakfast immensely.  Your friend Giantsbane is quite an interesting character.”  

“He is that.  He’s earned my respect, though, and I’ve worked to earn his and his people.  The free folk are proud, but I’ve kept my word to them and they’ve given me loyalty for it.”

“Still not going to be your Hand, Your Grace.”  

That got a smile from the King.  “I really wish you’d change your mind.  I won’t order you to take it, but as you showed at breakfast this morning, you’ve got the right kind of mind.  You’re not afraid to speak up, and you’re smart. You’re smart enough to see the shape of things, and how to implement the changes to bring that shape about.  I need men like that at my side, Jaime.”

“Oh, I’ll be by your side, and I’ll always tell you what’s on my mind,” he reassured.  “But I won’t be the Hand. I have no skill or patience for Small Councils and palace intrigue.  I’m likely to be shanked in the back before a month has passed.”

“I would name your man Bronn as Captain of the City Guard,” Jon wheedled.  “You’d have your pick of gold cloaks to watch your back for as long as you thought it necessary.  I can’t do away with the Small Council, but Sam’s replaced Qyburn as Grand Maester, Varys is still Master of Whispers, and Davos Seaworth is Fleet Captain.  I still need a Master of Coin, but for the moment, my wife is filling in there quite ably. There’s no one on the Small Council that has it out for you, and if you were Hand, you would be in charge of the meetings, which you would then report back to me.”  

Jaime tried to envision the meeting, with Grand Maester Tarly, Varys, and Davos all in the same room together.  Given that the court had not collapsed yet, they were obviously working quite well together. “What about Mormont?  Lyanna--”

“Refuses to leave Bear Island, because she is Lady Mormont,” Jon supplied.  “I’d already asked her to join my council and name her title, and she refused.  There’s ten other lords who’d love to be my Master of Coin, and I will soon have to choose one.  It’s likely going to be Umber or Howland Reed, if he’ll leave the Neck. His children, Jojen and Meera, were Bran’s teachers for a time, and took him North to the Raven.  He was loyal to my father, and saved Ned’s life more than once.” 

“Howland Reed would be a fine choice.  So long as it isn’t me,” Jaime agreed.

“Oh, not for Hand.  Howland would be my Master of Coin,” Jon corrected.  “I am still holding out hope that you will change your mind and accept, once you see how well you fit.”  

“I’d be as likely to stand on my head as to accept that position!”

“Make sure you put a pillow down, the stone floors of Winterfell are a bit hard, especially in the cold winters,” offered the King by way of dismissal.  

“Thank you, Your Grace.”  A sweeping bow that dripped sarcasm, and Jaime had to remind himself not to slam the door on his way out.  


	7. The Passage Of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes in Winterfell, and Jaime Lannister begins to realize he doesn't mind being part of the routine. Especially when he gets to watch Brienne beat Tormund to a pulp on a regular basis. And have extremely awkward, very drunken conversations with the king.

“If I have to say it one more time, I’m going to say it with my sword in your neck!” Brienne shouted.  “I’m not your lady, and I will not marry you!”

“Brienne of Tarth, you are the most lovely woman I have ever seen.  We would make enormous, angry children to fight for the king!” Tormund’s words were muffled, and when Jaime came around the corner, he saw why.  

Brienne had obviously punched Tormund in the face, because the latter had a furred glove pressed to his nose to stem the bleeding.  

“I am not going to make babies with you!” she spat out angrily.  “Leave me alone!” 

Tormund straightened as if he were going to say something else, but Jaime’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.  “Leave the lady be. I think she’s made it clear she’s not interested in you.”

“Not yet she isn’t,” Tormund answered confidently.  “Nine years now I’ve been courting that woman, and she’s finally coming around.”  He showed the blood proudly. “First blood.”

Jaime had to fight rolling his eyes.  “I don’t think that means to her what it means to you,” he pointed out calmly.  

“Ah, what do you know, Southerner?”  Tormund wiped his glove across his nose one last time, and turned back to the stairs.  “You’ll see. Sooner or later, she’ll come around.”

“Well, I wish you all the luck in the world.”   _ Because you are certainly going to need it. _

Jaime followed the angry grunting out to the courtyard, where Brienne was swinging her sword at a practice dummy.  It spun with every whack, creaking on its wooden stand. “Don’t you think you’re working a little hard there?” Jaime called out.  

“Piss off,” was Brienne’s reply, although she did stop swinging her sword.  Instead she glared at him from the cobbled stones of the practice corner. “What do you want?”

“To make sure you’re all right after being accosted in the hallway,” he admitted.  “Your friend Giantsbane seems… determined.”

“Determined to have his face broken, yes.”  Brienne stabbed Oathkeeper back into the scabbard.  “He’s harmless enough, I think, except he irritates me.”  

“I think the blood on his face is a clear message,” Jaime agreed idly.  “I’m sincerely glad that I’ve not moved you to such violence lately. Although I’m not certain if that means you care about me more or less than the wildling.”  

Brienne did not even dignify that with a response, changing the subject instead.  “Have you thought anymore about His Grace’s offer?”

“Yes, and just declined it again in private audience,” came the reply.  

“You’re a fool.”  That got her moving, and she brushed past Jaime as she headed back into the keep proper.  

Jaime caught her by the upper arm.  “I’m not the only fool in this hallway.  If you think I’m a fool for passing up the Hand, then I think you’re a fool for deliberately ignoring the fact that I am so very obviously not promised to anyone else.”  His grip on her tightened just enough to keep her from pulling away. “And I think you’re an even bigger fool for telling Sansa that there’s another woman when all there’s ever been is you.”  He let her go then, expecting her to bolt.

Brienne stood her ground, the shaking in her body thankfully hidden under leather, armor, and a fur cape.  “Oh really, my lord? What of this lady that you know of, who does not care about your position?”

Oh, the urge to shake her until her teeth rattled hit Jaime so hard, he very nearly did it.  “You pretty little simpleton, I meant you. You’ve never given a damn about what my position was or wasn’t.  Your only thought has been about my honor, because regaining it meant regaining who I was, or who I wanted to be, because I saw that kind of person in you.”

Brienne bit her lip, and released it the next instant.  “I don’t think you ever lost your honor, Jaime, just misplaced it for awhile.”

“You’re the only one who thinks that of me, and we are back to you being a fool.”  He kept his hands carefully by his side. “I didn’t ask for this, Brienne. Truly I didn’t.  The only other woman I… let’s just say that it didn’t turn out well for anyone involved and let’s just leave it at that, hmm?”

Jaime’s gusty sigh was enough to ghost the warmth of his breath across her cold cheek.  She savored the bit of neat, but kept her eyes firmly on his face. “If there was no one else, why did you say that there was?”

“Because I didn’t think it was fair of me to push onto you anything that I might have assumed,” he said after a few moments of careful word choices.

Brienne didn’t have an answer for that, though she was saved from replying in the next moment, when someone hailed Jaime from the keep.  

“Lord Lannister!  Your presence is being requested by the King!”

He watched as Brienne slipped away from him, darting across the courtyard and towards the smithy.  “Bloody man can’t go ten seconds without needing me to wipe his ass,” he growled to himself, and stalked back towards the page who had summoned him.  “Tell His Grace I shall attend upon him in a moment.”

\-----

Six ball-freezing weeks he’d been stuck at Winterfell, and Jaime was beginning to understand why Northerners were such a idiotic lot.  Being locked up together with this much snow for months to years at a time was enough to drive anyone around the bend. Much less a Westerner like himself, more adjusted to the moderate climates of King’s Landing.  You couldn’t even go out for a decent hunt without your testicles climbing into your body seeking out heat, and the pristine vistas of unbroken white were enough to drive a man batty.

Bran and Tormund had not yet left for the Wall, because Jon had gotten it into his head that Tormund needed to be there for the meeting with the Lord Commander.  So Jaime had gotten a six-week-long exposure to the wildling’s “relationship” with Brienne, mostly consisting of Brienne punching or stabbing whatever part of Tormund came nearest her space.  

There had been that one memorable dinner where Tormund had burst in and heaved the carcass of a dead elk onto the Lord’s table, right in front of Brienne and Sansa, proclaiming it to be an engagement present.  The King had burst out laughing--quite inappropriately, Sansa declared, before ordering the animal removed to the butcher’s. The rack of antlers and the skin had been returned to Tormund the next day, who had presented them both with a flourish to Brienne.  

Jaime had half expected to see the antlers inserted somewhere the sun did not shine; alas, Brienne had simply thrown them back at Tormund, narrowly missing his forehead and grazing his beard.  The great man had laughed at her rage, saying,  _ This one’s got a little blood in her veins, aye! _

The skin had been given to Sansa, and Sansa had had a beautiful cape made from it, which she then gifted to Jaime.  Jaime took a perverse delight in wearing it, and had even teased Brienne about it; “Technically, I’m wearing your wedding dress,” and the bruise on his jaw had lasted for a fortnight.

Aside from the occasional spectacle, though, Jaime’s time at Winterfell had been mostly peaceful, and he was falling reluctantly into the routine of the castle.  Both Jon and Sansa had begun to confer with him as often as with each other, and Jaime was beginning to understand Brienne’s respect for Sansa. 

Despite her attachment to the Lannister family for so long, Jaime realized he had drawn many erroneous assumptions about her.  But she did not seem to hold a grudge; in fact, she had bluntly told him one blizzard-quiet evening that his actions in the DragonWar had proven his faithfulness to her family, and that what was done in the past, while not forgotten, was forgiven in the hopes of replacing those foul tidings with a closer alliance in the future.  

And she had asked his advice on things she did not know, or things that she was not certain of.  At first she couched them in the guise of, “My mother only had time to teach me the basics of running a household like Winterfell, but you have had more experience than I.  Would you…” and then she’d ask him whatever question she’d meant to ask.

Her questions had shown him the depths of her intelligence, and that she was becoming far more sure of herself than he’d imagined.  Soon she quit second-guessing herself, and quit asking his confirmation for her own ideas; instead she asked his thoughts, and added them to her own, and came up with answers and solutions of her own liking.  

Jon’s questions followed a similar vein, though much more personal in nature.  In fact, it had taken both of them getting quite drunk on a stout black ale for Jon to ask what had obviously been lingering on his mind, but he was too genteel to ask while sober.

“Were the rumors about you and Cersei true?” Jon had asked, deep in his cups.  

Jaime, equally as drunk, still had a glimmer of what actually lay beyond the questions.  “Which rumors, Your Grace, there were quite a few of them,” he pointed out.

“That you and she… and the children.  Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella.” A wave with a half-empty horn that sloshed a bit as Jon gestured.  

“Ah.   _ The _ rumor, then.  Yes, it was true.  She and I were lovers.”  Jaime shrugged. “I loved her and I thought she loved me the same.  In her way, I suppose that she did. But I think she loved power more, and saw her love for me as a weakness.  So it was easy to cast me aside.” He reached out for the cask and filled both their horns again. 

“Mmf.”  Jon grunted appreciation and lifted the foamy brew to his mouth, then put it down before he took another drink.  “You know, she’s not my sister, not really. But I was raised with her, and it’s bloody awkward.”

Jaime was a bit dulled by the ale.  “Cersei? Of course she isn’t, she was--ohhhh.  You mean  _ your _ sister.”

“Yes!”  Jon did drink that time.  “She’s…” a pause as he tried to figure out the genetics.  “She’s my mother’s brother’s child. I think that makes her my niece.”

Jaime frowned, because that didn’t seem right.  “No. Niece would be… well, your niece would also be your daughter, wouldn’t she, since Sansa’s your… well, whatever she is, she isn’t your sister.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jon answered, as if that cleared up anything at all.

Now Jaime was confused.  “Sansa is Ned’s daughter.  You are actually his nephew, so your uncle’s daughter is… your cousin!”  Jaime was proud of himself for puzzling that out. “So you’re not really married to your sister, but your cousin.  And she’s beautiful. So what’s awkward about it?”

“Exactly!  She’s my cousin, but she’s my sister, too.  I can’t lay with my sister!”

Jaime looked at the King in surprise at that.  “You’ve been married for three years, Your Grace.”  

“I know!”  Jon drained the horn completely, and slammed it down on the table.  “So how do I deal with finding my sister who isn’t my sister attractive!”

“How in the hell should I know?  Just because I fucked my sister doesn’t mean I have all the answers, you know.  Ask Tyrion, he’s the one who drinks and knows things. I just drink.” And Jaime suited word to action, chugging from his horn.  “But here’s my answer anyway. Pretend she’s just a woman. Not your sister, not your cousin, just a beautiful woman that you’re married to.  You’ll be having little Starks in no time.” Jaime reached for the cask again and poured refills for himself and Jon. “Here, have a drink. It’ll settle your nerves.”

Jon tried to look outraged, and managed only extremely drunk and mildly inconvenienced.  “I’m not going to my wife like this!”

“Good, because you’d never be able to keep it up in the state you’re in.  Wait until you’re sober, and then give it a try. And don’t ever tell me about it.”

Jaime had woken up the next morning with a splitting headache and was unable to look Jon in the face for a week.  Which was more than fine, since Jon seemed unable to do the same. But, like a good wife, Sansa didn’t ask, and Jaime didn’t volunteer.

Finally, when Jaime thought that he was going to lose his mind for certain, a raven came bearing good tidings; Lord Commander Eddison Tollet was on his way from Castle Black and would be there within the week.  Which meant he’d already been on the Kingsroad for two weeks, and Jaime had nothing but sympathy for him. 

The castle began to bustle once more, getting ready for their new guest.  Chambers were prepared, a feast was planned, more fodder from the stores were brought into the stable.  Bets were taken on whether or not the Lord Commander would be alone, or if he’d ridden with his steward or any other brothers.

Jaime had laid two silvers on the steward, and hoped for more than that, because he was thoroughly tired of all the faces of Winterfell.  

He rarely saw Brienne that week before the Lord Commander’s arrival, because she was kept busy as the Kingsguard, doubling as head of household security and making sure that the entire keep was danger-free.  Whenever he did manage to catch her eye, he raised a hand to her in greeting, and she would usually stop whatever she was doing to hail him back, though it was never more than that.

As a consequence, he had more than enough time to berate himself privately for every kind of fool that existed.


	8. The 999th Lord Commander Arrives At Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edd's arrival at Winterfell makes things a bit more interesting than previously believed.

“Edd!”  Jon embraced his friend tightly, pounding him on the back.  “Gods be good, this job has aged you.”

Edd made a rude gesture towards the King’s back, and grunted.  “Aged you too, you know. damn near killed you.” 

“I’d almost rather have the Throne than be Lord Commander,” Jon admitted, showing just how much he loathed authority with that comment.  “Come on in, we’ve got something hot to drink and a good meal waiting.”

Edd threw the reins of his horse to the Winterfell stable boys, and gestured for the young man with him to follow.  “Gerry, this is King Jon, first of his name, and the 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Your Grace, this is my steward, Gerry Pymmin.  You remember Matthar and Balian?”

“I do, yes.”  Jon shook both their hands.  “Rangers, if I remember?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” answered both men together.  Then Balian continued solo, “We’re escorting the Lord Commander.”

“All brothers of the Night’s Watch are welcome in Winterfell.  This is Lord Jaime Lannister, of Casterley Rock, and friend to the Throne.  This is Brienne, the head of my Kingsguard, and my wife, Sansa, is waiting inside for us where it’s nice and warm.”  

“Got a wife, did you?  Always said you were a pretty one.  Bet the wife’s even prettier than you,” Edd teased gently as he followed Jon and the others into the castle.  

Inside the great hall, after the introductions were made, Tormund came and gave Edd a handshake.  “Aye, it’s good to see you again, man.”

“Hasn’t she killed you by now?” Edd asked, jerking his head towards Brienne.  

“Aaah, she’d never kill the love of her life,” bragged Tormund.  “She’s already broken my nose!”

“Usually that means they don’t like you,” Edd pointed out calmly, then went to bow before Sansa and Brienne before taking his seat at one of the lower tables.  

“No, you eat with me,” Jon called out, and pointed to the empty chair beside Jaime and Bronn.  “Enjoy the king’s table, and after we eat, we’ll have counsel. Tormund, Ser Jaime, I would have you join us.”

A grunt was Tormund’s only acknowledgement, but Jaime spoke up.  “Of course, Your Grace. We would be honored to join you.”

\----

At a lower table, the two rangers conversed in an undertone too quiet to carry.  “So that’s the King, then.”

“Aye, and did you see the guard?  A woman!”

“Brienne of Tarth,” said the first.  “I’ve heard stories about her, she’s a monster when she’s riled.  And did you see the sword she’s got? I’ve heard it’s Valyrian steel.”

“Nah, can’t be true.  Nobody would waste Valyrian steel on a woman like that.”  

“Easiest bag of gold we’ll ever earn.  What part you want to take back?”

“Head, of course.  Proof we done it.”

“Quiet, here comes the Lord Commander.  Remember, not a word. He can’t know, he’s too close to the King.  He’d hang us quick as lightning.”

\-----

Edd stopped at the table where his rangers sat.  “Go on, find you a bed and then present yourselves to Lady Stark.  Doubt they’ll find anything for you, but do it all the same. I’m safe enough with the king and his guards.”

Which was true enough, there being no real danger to Edd.  “Yes, Lord Commander,” Matthar answered. “We can share a room easy enough, no reason to put our hosts out any further.”  

“Good lads, the both of you.  Make sure you send a raven back to Castle Black and let them know we got here fine, and we’ll let them know when we’re ready to leave with the King’s brother.”

Balian blinked at that; that was a wrinkle they had not expected, though it wouldn’t really change their purpose.  “We’re taking the King’s brother back with us?”

“Aye, Jon told me just now.  His brother’s going to help put the Wall back together, make sure the dead can’t cross it or something.”  Not sure he believed it completely, but having seen what he had seen, he certainly wasn’t going to argue the idea, either.  

The King approached the three men, and stopped beside Edd.  “Gentlemen,” he greeted. “My apologies for not speaking to you outside, but I wanted to make sure we all got inside out of the cold.”

“Nothing to apologize for, Your Grace.”  Matthar and Balian had both gotten to their feet, and they both bowed in acknowledgement to the king.

Jon looked uncomfortable at the brothers in black bowing to him, but he also knew that he had to allow it.  He supposed that having been a brother himself, it bothered him more than anyone else. “You’re both very kind.  We’ve made rooms ready for you, and--”

“There’s no need to trouble yourself, Your Grace.  Balian and I are well used to sharing rooms, we can share here.”

“And if you need anything while we’re here, please ask.”  Balian nodded. “We’re not afraid to work, so if you need some extra hands, we’ll pitch in.”  

“That’s kind of you,” Jon answered gratefully.  “In fact I was thinking of mounting a hunting party, just to break the quiet around here for my guests.  If you’d like to join, you’d be more than welcome--as would you, Lord Commander.”

Both rangers looked eager.  “Aye, Your Grace, count us in!”

“And you, Edd?”

“Of course, I’d never miss the chance to go out and kill things.”  Edd’s usual dour appearance gave no clue as to whether he was being serious or sarcastic.

“Then we’ll set the date this evening, while we’re discussing other things!”  Jon clapped his hands twice, to get the attention of those remaining in the room.  “A Royal Hunt!” he called out. “Moose and Elk, most likely! Sharpen your spears and your arrows!” 

A faint cheer reached Brienne, where she waited outside the great hall for her King.  Jaime was leaning against the wall across from her. “Sounds like Jon’s got it in his head that we need to be entertained.”

“He’s a thoughtful man,” Brienne defended.  “Tormund’s elk was a gift to the kitchen, and my Lady Sansa has spoken to His Grace about another.  Not just for fresh meat, but to add to the dry stores too.”

Jaime just nodded.  “And the trophies will go to the ones who take the beasts down, I suppose?”

Brienne shrugged.  “That’s usually how it works.  Although with some of the moose around here, there’ll be hide and antlers aplenty for anyone who wants them.”

“And will you be gracing us with your presence, lady?”  Jaime straightened as he heard footsteps closing in on them.  

“Of course,” she sniffed.  “Where my King goes, I go.”  

Jon had drawn close enough to hear the last exchange, and it made him smile.  “Ser Brienne. I could not be in safer hands.” He held out his hand to stop her kneeling.  “Please. Stay on your feet, you can see much better from up here than down there.” 

Brienne flushed pleasantly.  “Thank you, Your Grace. You’re too kind.”  

“I will ask that you make my apologies to Sansa; I will be meeting with these men late into the night and don’t want to disturb her.  We’ll be meeting in my father’s meeting room tonight, and I’ll be needing Edwyn.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand, Your Grace, but I will certainly relay your message.”  She bowed to the King, and left immediately. On her way, she gently touched the Lord Commander on the shoulder and nodded towards the king; Tormund she punched in the shoulder and shoved him to follow the Lord Commander.  Sansa was still in the hall, laughing softly at something and leaning into her brother’s chair. “My lady.”

“Brienne!”  Sansa’s smile softened a bit when she saw the knight, and gestured for the women of the household to scatter.  “Is everything well?”

“Yes, my Lady.  The King asked that I remind you he will be in council late into the night, and doesn’t wish to disturb you.  If you need him, he will be in Lord Stark’s old office, and he will be keeping Edwyn to page.”

Her smile grew slightly melancholy.  “I’m glad he’s going to use the office.  I think our father would have liked that.”  Because she remembered many times seeing both her father and her mother sitting behind the desk, writing letters, checking the household accounts, many of the things that Sansa herself did at the desk in her--their--bedroom.  “Give the King my love when you return to him, and tell him that his lady Queen is more than capable of entertaining herself.” But she restrained Brienne with a hand to the wrist. “Walk with me for a moment.”

Brienne inclined her head in answer, and fell into step beside Sansa.  “My lady.”

“Have you spoken at all to Ser Jaime?” she asked curiously.  

“Only once.”  Afterwards, she’d striven to avoid him.  They still spoke casually in the halls, but she made a point not to be alone with him.  

“And?”

A windy sigh.  “He called me a fool, Lady.  Rather, he agreed that we are both fools, him for what he said and I for believing him.”  

That made Sansa frown.  “You believe he is playing you false?”

A vehement shake of her head.  “Not at all, my lady. I don’t believe he would ever.  When he said that there was a woman he thought of who would not judge him on his name or position, I assumed that he meant someone else.  He meant me, and I did not see that. As a knight in service to the King, I have nothing to offer a Lord. Were he still simply a knight, there might have been something, once upon a time.”  

A slow understanding took hold of Sansa, and she nodded.  “I see,” is all she said, and stopped outside the door of her solar.  “Thank you for your kind care of our family, but don’t neglect your own,” was her parting shot.  “Give Jon my love.” 

“Certainly, my Lady.  Since the King will have Edwyn tonight, I’ll ask Randall to stay with you tonight, in case you need anything.”  

Sansa’s hand rested on the door, and she laughed.  “I would be honored to share your young man, Ser Brienne.”  

“It’ll do him good to serve a real lady, and get that experience, too.  I’ll be with the King all evening, so I doubt I’ll need him. Spare time is not the friend of a young boy,” she added, repeating a line of wisdom she’d often heard her father say.  

“My mother used to say something similar, that youth requires structure to learn studiousness in their adulthood,” Sansa agreed.  “I miss my mother sometimes.”

“I do too, my Lady.  Lady Catelyn was the finest lady that I have ever served.  She gave me the hardest job I’d ever had to do, and showed me more trust than any other lord or lady that I’d met.  And then I started serving you, and you are very much like your mother. You have her strength, her courage, and her self-possession.  Just as I would lay down my life for your mother, I would lay it down for you and for anyone in your family.” 

Sansa took Brienne’s hand and held it between both of hers.  The slight thickness in Brienne’s voice tightened Sansa’s own throat as she spoke.  “You have sworn to me and I to you, and I will say this again; you are not just my knight, you are my friend, my sister, and I will fight for you as fiercely as I would fight for my brothers, for my sister, my King, and my children.”  

The faint sound of shouting and clanging got both their attention, and Brienne straightened instantly. “Go inside and bar the door, and don’t open it for anyone.  I’ll come back for you when it’s safe.” She all but shoved Sansa into the room, barely waited for the two handmaids to enter with her, and she closed the door with all her strength.  “Lift the bar if you can,” she called through the wood, then drew Oathkeeper and started to run.


	9. A Clashing of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left Brienne of Tarth, she was just about to run headlong into a battle. Here's what she was running into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of a short chapter (only about 1500 words or so, but any more and it'd delved into the next chapter!) There's fighting and blood and things in this chapter, so if that sort of thing bothers you... why are you watching Game of Thrones anyway???

“Protect the King, damn you all!”  Edd had his sword drawn, and he had put himself squarely between the two rangers attacking him and Jon, who had his own sword drawn.  Jaime had his sword drawn, and Tormund raised both fists. “Giantsbane!”

“They’re in the armory!” he shouted back, swinging wide to keep the rangers from coming too close.

“Then take the King and bar the door!” Jaime shouted, just to be heard.  “Where the hell is Brienne?”

“Escorting the Queen; where she should be,” Jon countered, Longclaw ready for action.

Tormund listened to Edd, shoving Jon back two steps, and then a third before the King planted his feet.  “You bloody stubborn crow-ass,  _ move! _ ”

Jaime turned around quickly.  “Apologies in advance, Your Grace.”  He swung his sword hand, and the hilt of his sword connected with Jon’s temple.  “Get him in there!”

Tormund was struggling with king and sword both, so Jaime swept Longclaw up and grabbed Jon’s feet, helping the wildling drag the king into the meeting room and laying him none too gently on the table.  “Won’t want to be you when he wakes up.”

“I don’t care as long as he does wake up,” Jaime snorted.  “Now bar the door behind me, and arm yourself.” He tossed Longclaw to Tormund.  “It’s not an ax, don’t swing it. Hack.”

“I know what to do!” Tormund shouted, pushing Jaime back out into the corridor.

\---

Brienne skidded around the corner in time to see Jaime and Tormund disappear with the king.  She didn’t bother announcing herself, she just swung with Oathkeeper. The two rangers were boxed in between herself and the Lord Commander, and Edd was shouting at her.  “Kill them both, they’ve attacked the king!”

Brienne was not afraid of anything--except losing another king.  She had failed Renly, she had failed Lady Catelyn, and she could not bear another failure.  She threw herself into the battle, Oathkeeper snapping through the blade of one ranger and slicing his hand off in a single sweep.  

The blood was hot and salty as it sprayed over her, and she shook her head to keep it out of her eyes.  The other ranger was swinging for her now, and she lifted her blade high to block the incoming blow.

Her eyes widened as she felt a knife slip into her belly and tug, and she barely got a look at the second ranger dropping his remaining hand as his head rolled off his shoulder.

“Brienne!”  Jaime’s sword was dripping red, and he caught her as she fell to her knees.  

Red spilled from her stomach, and it took all of her strength to raise Oathkeeper one last time, blocking the blow that would’ve ended Jaime’s life.  She passed out, her eyes closing as Edd’s sword fell.

“No, don’t!”  Jaime’s sword blocked Edd’s.  “We need him alive, just long enough to tell us who and why.”  But he cradled Brienne close, his metal hand bearing her weight without complaint.  “Get Bronn down here, he’ll watch the bastard until I question him. And get the Maester, she’s hurt.”  He stood, letting both his sword and Oathkeeper fall to the floor. Balancing her weight was a precarious thing, but he didn’t intend to let her go.  “And someone go make sure the Queen is safe,” he ordered as he carried her over to the king’s council chamber. “Tormund, it’s safe, open the damned door!”

The door was opened by a wobbly but otherwise uninjured Jon Stark, who was scowling at Jaime until he saw Brienne in his arms.  “Hurry, get her in here. The Maester?”

“On his way, I sent one of the boys,” Edd said over Jaime’s shoulder.  “I’m headed to look for the Queen now.”

“She’s got a reception chamber downstairs, two halls over,” Jon said after a moment.  “She’s probably there, and Brienne’s probably locked her in. Let me go with you.”

“Not without me,” Tormund said, standing close to the king.  “Can’t be sure they’re the only ones, and your Kingsguard is down for a bit.  Best let me stand in until she’s back on her feet.”

“Go, I’ll stay with her until the Maester gets here.”

Jon looked Brienne, the blood soaking her tunic, and then at Jaime.  “Once we’ve found Sansa, better send a raven to Sam. He won’t get here in time to help, but maybe he’ll know something we can do in the meantime.”

Jaime heard something about the Queen, and a raven, and the Grand Maester, but he was focused on Brienne.  “Come on, you stubborn wench, don’t you let this kill you, or I’ll kill you myself.” 

A quiet groan was his only answer, but to him, it was as good as gold.  

\---

“Sansa!”  Jon’s fist pounded on the locked door.  “Sansa, are you all right in there?” The bar on the door lifted slowly, and Jon pushed it open, only to be greeted by his wife holding a dagger on him.  “It wasn’t me,” he pointed out. 

“You’re all right!”  Sansa dropped the dagger and ran to her husband, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.  “What happened?”

“I don’t know everything yet,” he answered, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against hers.  “Jaime rightfully knocked me out and got me out of the fight; seems I was being stubborn about it.  But the two rangers that came with Edd attacked him, and me. Brienne was injured, but she’s the only one.”  

“Brienne is injured?”  Sansa pulled away from Jon’s embrace, and headed towards the door.  “Where is she?”

“In Father’s old office.  We were going to meet there, but when she was injured, Jaime laid her out there.  Maester Wolkan’s on the way, and Edd’s going to send a raven to King’s Landing and see if Sam knows any tricks that’ll help Brienne recover faster.”  Because he absolutely refused to believe that she would not. 

“I’m going to her.”  Sansa didn’t wait for anyone to agree or disagree; she pushed Tormund out of the way and hurried down the hallways, up one and down another, until she was outside her father’s old office.  She rested her hand on the door and pushed it open, bracing herself. 

Brienne was flat on the large oaken table, with Jaime on one side and Maester Wolkan on the other.  Jaime’s hand was on her shoulder, and Wolkan seemed to be probing her wounds with his fingers. Sansa’s hand covered her mouth as she came into the room, because the blood from Brienne’s injury was still bright red as it seeped out, and there was a gods-awful puddle of it beneath her.  

Jaime noticed Sansa when she caught her breath, but he didn’t quite look up to her.  “Lucky for her, she’s still out cold while the Maester is making sure nothing is pierced,” he said, keeping his eyes on Brienne instead.  “He’s keeping her on milk of the poppy for now, until she’s ready to wake up.” 

“But she will wake up?” Sansa asked, coming closer to stand beside Jaime.

“You honestly believe she’d let something like this keep her down for long?  Besides, I’ve told her already, if she lets this kill her, I’ll kill her myself.”  

Samsa’s smile was barely there before it was gone again.  “Do anything you must to make sure she survives,” she ordered the Maester.  

“Of course, my Lady,” Wolkan said softly, his hands steady and never straying.  

Sansa touched Jaime’s hand.  “Don’t let her wake up alone.”  

“Have no worry on that account, Your Grace.  I don’t intend to leave until she’s back with us.”  

“Good.”  She smoothed her dress, and squared her shoulders under her cape.  “Did you leave one of them alive?”

“Barely, Your Grace.  Bronn’s keeping watch over him now.”

“Good,” she repeated.  “I’m going to go and have a talk with the men who tried to murder my husband and my sister.”

“Take care, please.  He’s unarmed, and still quite dangerous.”  

Sansa’s smile resembled the wolf of her family’s sigil, and she revealed to Jaime the dagger inside her cape.  “Don’t worry, I’m quite dangerous myself, you know.”

“Brienne give you that?”  Jaime had to shake his head at that; he never would have expected Sansa to carry a weapon.  

“No, it was my mother’s, but Brienne taught me how to use it.”  She let the cape fall back down to hide the dagger, and clasped her hands inside the sleeve.  “And use it I will if I must, to get answers.” 

Jaime actually felt sorry for the man stupid enough to stand in Sansa’s way.  “You hear that, wench?” he asked Brienne softly. “Your lady Sansa is going off to avenge you.  Best you wake up in a hurry, before she gets the idea she has to kill for you.” 

Brienne stirred, moaning softly, but was too far under the influence of the poppy’s opiate effect to fully awaken.  

Maester Wolkan simply kept sewing, pinching her skin between his fingers as he stitched up the wound with careful touches.


	10. Interrogation by the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out the extent of Brienne's injuries, and Sansa takes it upon herself to find out just what is going on in Winterfell these days, and Jaime gets a new job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my birthday was Monday, let me give y'all a birthday present! An early chapter!

Bronn caught sight of Sansa halfway down the hall, and didn’t even bother to tell her  _ No, please go back, this isn’t a woman’s place. _  First of all, it wasn’t his place, and second of all, the nice, sharp, shiny dagger in her hands told him that if he bothered to open his mouth, he was going to be staring down the business end of it.  

He bowed, deeply, and swung the heavy door open for her.  “M’lady.”

“Thank you, Ser.  Would you be so kind as to remain outside?  If Edd or my husband come by, please inform them that I am interrogating the prisoner and I would not like to be disturbed.”  

“Absolutely, Your Grace.  I’ll keep an ear out for trouble, and if I hear you yellin’--”

“You won’t.  But thank you for your concern.”  Sansa closed the door behind her, and took a look at the manacled man sitting on a straw mattress in the far corner.  “You’re… which are you? Balian?”

Balian didn’t answer verbally, but tilted his head to acknowledge her.  

“Perhaps you’ve heard of my former husband, Lord Ramsay Bolton?”

At the mention of Bolton, whose sigil was that of the flayed man, he panicked, standing up in front of the mattress, the chain connecting him to the wall jangling loudly.

“I see that you have,” Sansa said with a dark smile, and pulled the dagger out of her cloak once more.  “Would you care to imagine the things I learned from him during our brief but entirely unpleasant marriage?”  She balanced the weapon between her palms, the hilt resting in her cupped hand while the point barely rested against her skin.  “More to the point, would you care to experience any of them, or would you like to tell me everything I wish to know?”

The chains rattled again.  “It was Matthar! He was promised a bag of gold dragons for the king’s head and promised to share it with me if I helped!”

“I see, and who contacted Matthar to promise him this bag of gold dragons?”  She kept her eyes on the dagger, not the man, letting it spin just enough in her hand that the flickering torchlight danced off the steel blade.

“It was his family!  Matthar’s family! He’s a cousin to House Thorne, and when they heard that the Lannisters were throwing their support to the bastard king instead of the Dragon Queen, they promised a bag of gold dragons to anyone who brought them Jon Snow’s head!  We knew he wasn’t a brother anymore, but Matthar knew he was friends with Lord Commander Tollet and we could get to him through Edd!” Balian spilled out what he knew almost as fast as he could speak. “They blame Jon Snow for the death of Ser Alliser, but when he turned his back on the Targaryens, they marked him!”  

“Thank you, Balian.”  Sansa turned her back on the ranger, and knocked on the door.  “Ser Bronn, if you please.” The door unlocked, and Sansa exited the room.  

But before the door closed all the way, the ranger lunged forward.  “My lady!”

“Yes?”  Sansa put her hand on Bronn’s arm, stilling his motion of slamming the door in the man’s face.  

“Promise me a quick death,” he pled.  “I don’t want to hang, I’d rather have my head taken, the real death promised to brothers who betrayed the Night’s Watch.”

Sansa considered.  “You tried to murder my husband.  You betrayed the Watch and your brothers, all for half a bag of gold dragons.  I make no promises to oathbreakers and traitors.” She swept out entirely, and Bronn slammed the door closed.  

He threw the lock and hung the key back around his neck.  “That was easier than I expected.”

“Do you know the sigil of House Bolton, Ser Bronn?” Sansa asked mildly.

“Can’t say as I do.”

“The flayed man.  Let me reassure you, that is not just a picture on a flag.  House Bolton flayed their enemies alive, and I was married to the Bolton bastard, Ramsay.  Jon and the Knights of the Vale rescued me, and killed him. When I say that my marriage to him was brief but unpleasant, please understand that I am being kind.  I was not spared, though he was smart enough to keep the knife in places that wouldn’t be seen.” She sheathed the dagger back in her cape. “I am a slow learner, Ser, but I do learn.”  

“I believe you do, your Grace.”  Bronn rubbed a hand over his face.  “What you want done with this one?”

“For the moment, nothing.  Eventually he’ll be executed, but I’m certain Jon or Edd will want to interrogate him themselves, to make certain that I missed nothing.”  A pause. “He mentioned that House Thorne were displeased with the Lannisters coming over to our side; I am going to warm Jaime but if you could also keep your eyes open, I would hate to see anyone harm him.”

“Don’t worry, he’s a big enough bastard they’re gonna think twice at taking a swing, but I’ll watch his back,” Bronn agreed.  

“Thank you.”  Sansa smiled at him, then sobered up.  “I have charged him with staying by Brienne’s side until she wakes; can I entreat you to stay near him, just in case?  Once the word of the failed attempt reaches the Thornes, it is possible they might try again, targeting Jaime as well as Jon.”

“Aye, and I’ll send word to Tyrion and Podrick too, just in case they decide to go after them,” Bronn volunteered.  “Cover all the bases.”

“Yes, please do, I didn’t think of that.”  She had, of course, and had meant to do that herself, but it harmed no one for her to allow Bronn the privilege.  “You’re a good man, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and I am in your debt.” 

“Nah, you’re not.”  Bronn brushed it away.  “The Queen don’t owe debts to the likes of me.”  

\-----

Wolkan had finished stitching Brienne up over a half hour ago, and he had stopped pouring milk of the poppy down her throat once it was done.  The stitched slash was longer than Jaime was happy with, but the line of stitches was covered with a thick herbal poultice and a bandage that seemed to be drawing out the unhealthy ichor.

_ The blade wasn’t poisoned, and that’s good.  She’s strong, and healthy, and that will work in her favor too.  But the wound is grave, and it will take time for her to wake and to recover. _

That had been Wolkan’s last words to him before leaving the chamber.  Jaime now sat at the desk where Brienne lay, unwilling to have her moved until she woke on her own.  “All right, wench,” he growled softly, taking her hand in his. “If you don’t come around soon, I’m going to start calling you my lady.”  A quiet knock on the door, and Jaime dropped her hand. “What is it?”

Sansa came in, and sat beside Jaime.  “I spoke the ranger in custody, Balian.  He and the other ranger are in service of the Thorne family, who marked Jon for death because the Lannisters supported him and not Daenerys, and because Jon executed Ser Alliser Thorne for treason against the Lord Commander.”  

“Wolkan said that the wound’s serious, but she’s strong and healthy, so she should be able to recover from it, in time,” Jaime offered, exchanging intel for intel.  

Sansa took her other hand, and kissed Brienne’s wide forehead gently.  “Come back soon, Brienne. You are already missed.” Then she looked at Jaime.  “I’ve talked to Bronn and he’ll be watching you closely in case they decide to send someone after you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace, but there’s no need.”

“There is a need.  I am going to speak to Jon and make sure he’s well--”

“Er, about that.”  Jaime did look slightly sheepish.  “I might have struck the King to get him out of the fighting.”

Sansa laughed at the sheepishness that came over Jaime’s face.  “Yes, he did mention that you rightfully struck him. I’m not going to blame you for saving my husband’s life.”  

Jaime scowled at her laughter, but then he smiled.  “Well, he was being stubborn. Seems to think he’s still a soldier and not a king.”

“He’s never been comfortable sitting on a throne,” Sansa agreed.  “But he’s learning.”

“Aren’t we all.”  

A soft groan issued from the table, and Brienne shifted, tugging the tablecloth into a wrinkled mess, but she didn’t wake.  

Jaime was on his feet in a moment, his metal hand resting on her forehead while his flesh hand clasped hers tightly.  “Brienne? Are you still in there, woman?”

“No,” came the croaked reply, and Brienne’s eyes struggled to open.  “Where… the King?”

“Alive and well, thanks to you.” Sansa was on Brienne’s other side.  “No, lay back down, don’t try to move.” 

Brienne tried to tighten her abdomen to sit up, but the pain that rushed her made her relax again.  “Good.” Her head rolled to the side, and she finally got her eyes pried open. “My sword.”

“Right here.”  Jaime brought her hand to Oathkeeper’s hilt, where it was laid beside her.  

“Thank you.”  Her fingers tightened around the hilt, but she couldn’t lift it.  “My lady.” 

Sansa helped Brienne lift the sword, and laid it on her chest.  “Rest, sister.” 

Brienne just nodded.  “I won’t fail you.”

“You haven’t failed me,” Sansa reassured.  “The king is alive and well, except for a bit of a headache.  He’ll be by to see you himself soon.”

“Jaime.”  Brienne looked over at him.  “You have to protect the King.”

“I can’t.”  

“Please.”  Brienne tried to push Oathkeeper towards him.  

“Tormund is keeping the King safe until you’re recovered,” Jaime pointed out.  “And I am keeping you safe until you’re recovered.” 

“Tormund?”  Brienne coughed as she tried to laugh, and her whole body sagged.  “Protect the King, Jaime.”

Jaime caught Oathkeeper before it fell, and placed it carefully in the scabbard at her hip.  “Let me protect you first, because once you are well, you can protect the King.” 

Sansa agreed.  “Jon is going to be well-protected by every other member of the Kingsguard, which you yourself have chosen and trained and vetted,” she pointed out.  “You, on the other hand, have been gravely injured and will need rest and protection to make sure that you recover properly. I am giving that assignment to Jaime, if he will accept it.”

Jaime bowed his head.  “Of course, Your Grace.  It will be my honor.”

Brienne grunted again, and let her head fall back on the table.  “As you will it, my lady.” Her eyes fluttered closed, and her entire body relaxed again.  

Sansa looked up at him, and Jaime touched her cheek.  “Just sleeping, Your Grace.” 

“I mean what I said.  I am leaving Brienne’s recovery in your hands.  You’re probably the only one who can control her enough to make her lie down, take her medicines, eat properly, and not burst her stitches open trying to swing her sword,” Sansa said to him.  “She listens to you.”

“Not by much,” Jaime pointed out.  

“More than she does the rest of us.  Will you take on the charge?”

“Gladly I do.”

Sansa made to leave the room, but paused just before she left.  “You know, you two should really get married.” Then she shut the door behind her, leaving Jaime to splutter helplessly into thin air.


	11. The Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is getting much better, enough to actually tease Jaime, while Jon and Sansa make Brienne a part of the punishment of the traitor.

Two weeks had passed before Maester Wolkan--or Jaime--would let Brienne get out of bed on her own.  She’d sworn heavily at Jaime, called him an overbearing bastard, and blacked his eye when he first offered to help her onto the chamber pot.  

She’d also broken her stitches three times, bled four times, and nearly gave Jaime a panic when she got out of bed and left a bloodstain behind.  Wolkan had had to re-sew the wound every time the stitches broke, and the second time, Wolkan had threatened to give her sleep tea and milk of the poppy until the wound healed just to keep her in bed.  Jaime had had to intervene at that, and he had gone so far as to actually taste her tea for a couple of days--out of her sight, of course--to make certain that Wolkan wasn’t going to actually follow through on the threat.  

He’d shouted, bullied, argued, and begged her to eat the food brought to her on trays, threatening to sit on her legs and shovel it in himself.  Bathing she took care of herself, once she was able, and he was exiled to the hallways during those times. 

Bronn waited outside the chamber door, throwing pitying looks towards Jaime every time he emerged.  

Finally, though, the two weeks were past, and Brienne was standing on her own two feet.  Her hand was gripping Jaime’s arm tightly, and most of her weight was being held up by his grip.  But she was upright, and she was thrilled. “Thank you, Jaime,” was the first thing she said, quite heartfelt.  

“You’re welcome.”  He slipped his arm around her waist to hold her up a little more comfortably, but didn’t move otherwise.  “Ready to take a short walk?”

“Yes, please, I’m sick to death of this room and this bed.”  

Jaime bit his lip, because his first flippant instinct was to offer his bed and his bedroom for a change of scenery, and his bruises were  _ just _ starting to fade.  “I imagine you are.”  He secured her arm around his shoulder, and nodded.  “Whenever you’re ready. Where do you want to go?”

“To see the king,” she answered, perhaps predictably.  “And the Queen.”

Of course she did.  “Of course you do. That’s a bit of a long walk, though.  Might I suggest a smaller trip at first, perhaps to the office at the end of the hall?”

“If that is where the King and Queen are, then yes.”  Brienne set her jaw firmly.

Oh, Jaime had learned to spot that expression a mile off.  It meant that she would accept no argument, no logic, no rational thought except, “Yes, Brienne.  The King’s chamber it is.” Bronn would follow them; he’d been shadowing Jaime for the last two weeks, and if Brienne hit the floor, Bronn would help him carry her back.  

“Thank you.”  Brienne stepped forward slowly, leaning on Jaime until she trusted her balance.  With each step forward, she took a little more of her own weight, and she was eventually bearing about half of her weight by the time they got to the end of the hall.  She was breathing shallowly through her nose, and one of her hands was pressed against her stitched wound. 

Her legs felt like lead, but she kept going, until they turned the corner of the hallway and her legs gave out entirely.

Jaime had been expecting this; he caught her easily against his chest and half-carried, half-led her back to the office and into the high-backed chair in front of the desk.  “There we are. Why don’t we take a little break before we go wandering about the rest of the keep looking for Their Graces?”

Brienne just nodded, bracing against the desk as she breathed slowly but deeply as she could, striving not to show how exhausted she was after just that short walk.  “Where are the men who attacked the king?”

“One lost his head, the other’s in the cells,” Jaime answered quickly.  

“Jaime took it, saving your life,” Bronn corrected.  “If he hadn’t done, we’d have been sending you to the Stranger sure as shit,” he finished.  “Then again, if you hadn’t taken that last blow with your sword, he’d have been right there with you on the ride.”  

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and go find Sansa?” Jaime snapped over his shoulder, glaring at Bronn.  

“My Lord, my lady.”  Bronn’s dip was just short of disrespectful, and Jaime caught the raised middle finger that he offered their backs as he disappeared in search of the Queen.  

“Bloody man doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut,” Jaime groused.  

“Did you save my life?” Brienne asked.  “I don’t… I barely remember getting stabbed, and nothing at all after that.”  

“I didn’t,” he hastened to reassure her.  “He had already stabbed you, I just took his head to keep him from cutting you wide open.”

“So you did save me.”  Brienne looked up at him.  “Saving the damsel in distress, Ser?”

“I didn’t!”

“But you did.”  Brienne uncovered her wound and raised her shirt to look at the line of stitches, easily an inch long.  “Had you not, I’d have died with my entrails in my hands, and that’s not a good way for a man to die,” she pointed out between breaths.  

Jaime pulled her shirt down and put her hand back against the wound.  “I couldn’t let anything else happen to you. But Bronn is right about one thing; you did save my life.  The very last thing you did was raise that sword of yours and you blocked the strike that would’ve killed me.  At the very least, we’re even.”

“I don’t remember that.  I wish that I did. I’d like to remember that.”  Her head fell back against the chair back for a moment, then she let it drop forward to tuck against her chest.  “Thank you for protecting the king when I couldn’t.”

“You were with the Queen.  You were doing your duty, nothing more, and I was doing mine.”  Well, his  _ former _ duty anyway.  In this case, it was almost worse; he considered Jon a friend and he was defending a friend.  “Besides, the King is… well, I don’t know if I’d call him my friend or not, but--”

“Of course I’m your friend, idiot.”  Jon came into the room, followed by Sansa.  “Or I’d like to think that we’re friends.” He came and knelt by Brienne’s chair, so that they were eye to eye.  “Now that you are awake and on your feet, I would like to offer you my sincerest gratitude. Not just for my life, but for that of my Queen.  You made certain that Sansa was safe and secure and you saved the lives of myself and my friends.” He clasped her hand in his, and angled his head to follow her eyes when she dropped them to the floor.  “Brienne, look at me. If you ever need anything from me, you need only ask it. I owe you more than I can ever repay.” 

Sansa didn’t bother kneeling, just wrapped her arms around Brienne and hugged her tightly.  “You saved my husband’s life, and I will never be able to thank you enough. You are already family, or I would name you such right here.”  

Brienne’s throat was tight, overwhelmed by the genuine emotion that flowed into her from both the King and the Queen.  The stubborn tears refused to fall, instead thickening her voice when she tried to speak. “I was…” she cleared her throat rapidly.  “I was only doing my duty, your Graces. I would never ask anything in return.”

“We know.”  Jon got to his feet then, and placed a hand gently on the back of Sansa’s head.  “But know that it is still there anyway; a favor, a request, a desire. Anything the King or the Queen can grant, it is yours.”

Brienne was silent for a long moment, turning her face into Sansa’s shoulder and letting out a slow, shuddering breath.  To her surprise, Sansa pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, and stepped back to look at her. “Tormund has been waiting to see you,” Sansa said with a small smile.  “We’ve been able to stop him so far, but…”

“Send him in,” Brienne said with a sigh, straightening up.  She touched Sansa’s hand gently, clasping it tightly when the Queen did the same.  

Jaime was standing to the side, and he straightened up when Tormund threw the door open.  Jaime expected him to be dragging a dead moose or a pile of dead rabbits or something, and was surprised to see him carrying in nothing more than a new fur-lined blanket and a leather belt.  “The other had blood on it, and the Maester cut it getting it off you,” he said, offering the new belt first. “It looks like the other one, but it’s better.” His chest puffed out. “I killed the moose myself, and tanned it.  The cobbler had to do the fine stitching, though. And Roynan made the buckle himself, special for the belt and everything.”

“He did?”  Brienne was touched by the gift, and struggled briefly to her feet long enough to slide it around her waist and close the buckle.  It fit snugly and perfectly, the leather supple, with a hanger already in place for Oathkeeper’s scabbard. “Thank you, Giantsbane.  That was thoughtful of you. And everyone.”

The red in his beard did nothing to hide the flush of his skin, and he nearly dumped the blanket on her lap.  “Here, this is what’s left of the moose hide, and I gave the antlers to Jon and his lady.” 

Brienne gathered the soft hide up and laid it in her lap.  “This is too kind, but thank you.”

Tormund didn’t have an answer, just shuffling his feet and swearing under his breath.  Finally, he quickly leaned forward and brushed a beard-bristling kiss onto Brienne’s cheek.  “Glad you’re better,” he blurted out, and then left.

The door slammed in his wake, and nobody seemed to know what to make of it.  “Well, that was interesting!” Jaime cackled.

\-----

Once Brienne was settled back in her bed, sitting upright and cushioned by pillows, Jon and Edd, Tormund and Jaime all gathered around her.  “The one that was killed was Matthar, and he’s the leader, it seems, of the whole plot,” Jon was explaining. “Balian is the survivor, and he told Sansa that House Thorne had set a price on my life, because I executed Ser Alliser at Castle Black, and I turned my back on the Targaryen line and heritage.  The Thornes were firm supporters of the Targaryens, and that’s why Alliser had been exiled to Castle Black in the first place. He was on the wrong side of Robert’s Rebellion.” 

“Don’t forget, you doubly insulted them by allying with the Lannisters,” Jaime added.  “Not only did you turn your back on the Targaryens, you allied with their worst enemy, House Lannister.”  

“He didn’t ally with the Lannisters, he allied with you,” Brienne pointed out, and turned her attention back to the king.  “Begging the King’s pardon.” Jon motioned for her to continue. “House Lannister, at the time of your alliance, was headed by Cersei, not you.  It was you that the alliance was made with, because you did not take over House Lannister until your sister’s death. Therefore, His Grace only allied with Jaime Lannister.”

“I don’t think that really makes a difference to anyone else,” Jaime was quick to point out.

“Perhaps not, but it should.”

And the King agreed.  “She’s right, I didn’t choose the House, you chose me and I chose you.  That you are now head of the House is a bonus, but nothing that I required of you.  I allied with you because I was well-advised of your honor, and your desire to do what was right.”  

Jaime was eager to deflect the attention from himself.  “However. Since his confession, there have been no more attempts on the King’s life, or mine, so Bronn can stop following me about like a second shadow.”  He raised his voice so the man outside the door could hear. 

A muffled curse that sounded a bit like  _ fook ooh _ came through the door, and everyone snickered softly.  

“We have held his execution until your recovery, on the off chance you’d wish to offer him mercy.”

“No, no mercy for those who would kill the king,” she said firmly.  “Let him be executed and hang his head from the walls.”

“Bloodthirsty!  I like it!” roared Tormund, and he thumped Jon on the back.  “Told you she’d want the bastard’s head!”

“Well, I don’t think we’ll be hanging anyone’s head from the walls, although there is a question as to method of execution,” Jon soothed.  “He’s asked for the traditional execution of a Night’s Watch traitor, which is beheading. Those in the North tend to favor beheadings as well, although hanging has also been used.  There’s been an argument made, however, for the crow’s cage.” 

“Sansa suggested the crow’s cage,” was Edd’s interjection.  “And she was quite vocal in her approval for it. Said that anyone who dared to kill the king and the warden of the north needed to be made an example of.”  

“Yes, but I agree with the king.  He needs to stretch his neck or lose his head,” Jaime suggested.

Jon held up both hands, silencing everyone.  “Brienne was the one injured, and I am leaving it up to her, as the injured party, to make the decision.”

Brienne thought long and hard.  “Hang him, Your Grace. Traitors don’t deserve a clean death.”

Edd frowned a little, but kept his peace.  He’d said his bit to Jon already;  _ the man is a brother, no matter what he’s done, and he’s betrayed the Night’s Watch.  He deserves the sword. _

But Jon had looked him square in the eye.   _ Would you wield the sword, Lord Commander? _

When Edd had admitted that he could not, Jon had not said anything else, and Edd had agreed to abide by the King’s decision--which he had just passed to Brienne, who was not a brother of the Watch.  “Are you certain?” is all he asked.

“I’m certain,” Brienne replied.  “Taking his head is what he’s asked for; he knows it’s an easy death.  He doesn’t want to dangle and choke, and that’s what he deserves. So no, we don’t give traitors any favors.”

“I agree,” was Jon’s answer.  “If it had just been an attack on you, as Lord Commander, that would be the Watch’s business.  But it was an attack on the king, and that makes it the business of the realm, and the realm’s justice is the rope, in this case.”

“As you will, Your Grace.”  Edd made himself satisfied with the outcome.  He was already in a mood because he had not seen this falseness in his men before they’d come to Winterfell, and ultimately, he was responsible for their behavior.  He almost wished they’d attacked him and not Jon. 

Jon had an idea of how hard this was on Edd, because Jon had been in the same position as Lord Commander--in fact, his choice to execute was the whole reason they were having this discussion now.  “You are not responsible, Edd,” he said kindly. “These men betrayed you as well as themselves.” 

“Yes, Your Grace.”  

Brienne looked over at Jaime, who had a look of approval on his face, and then back to the king.  And when it landed on Jon, the approval turned into a scowl. “Thank you, my King, for allowing me to participate.”

“Of course, Brienne.  You very nearly gave your life for mine and Sansa, and so it would be rude of us to exclude you.”  He rose to his feet. “We’d like to speak to your later, my wife and I, but for now, we’ll let you get your rest.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jaime said quickly.  “If you like, I’ll escort you and your lady wife back to wherever you were.”

Sansa had to school her face to keep from laughing inappropriately at Jaime’s not-so-subtle attempts to get them out so Brienne could rest.  “I think we can find our way back alone,” she was finally able to reply. “But thank you so kindly for your care of our persons.”

“Mmm.”  Jaime was all but hustling them out of the room.  “I’ll be down for dinner tonight, and perhaps Brienne will feel like it tomorrow.”

“I feel fine,” she called out after them, and Jaime shut the door before glaring at her.  “You could barely make it to the office, woman, why do you think you’re up for a two-hour dinner?”

“Because I bloody say so.”  Brienne crossed her arms over her chest and glared back, not intimidated in the least.  “I can walk downstairs and sit at the table like anyone else.”

“Of course you can.  And how’s your stomach feeling, by the way?  Don’t think I didn’t notice you holding it in before,” he added, before she could open her mouth to argue.  “That’s right. You’re going to take dinner in bed like a reasonable human being, and if you feel better tomorrow, we’ll think about dinner if you can make it to the office again!”

“I’ll take it in my room, sitting by the window.  I’m tired of being in bed,” she groused. “And then I’ll lie back down after I’ve eaten.”

“Fine, then I’ll eat with you.”

“Fine!”

Jaime’s glare let up as he noticed Brienne shifting uncomfortably, and he came to the bedside.  Pulling the sheet back, he saw the bandage was soaking through with red, and it peeled away bloody.  One stitch had popped near the end of the wound, and it was finally bleeding through. “Damnation, woman!”

“Just shut up and call the Maester,” she growled, scooting herself to lie down flat.

Jaime stuck his head out the door, and found Randall skulking outside the room.  “There you are, boy. Go and fetch the Maester and tell him one of Lady Brienne’s stitches has come loose.”  

“Yes, sir!”  The boy looked thrilled to finally have something to do to help Brienne, and he raced off.  

Jaime came back to the bed, helping Brienne to lie down flat and tucking the pillow behind her head.  “Why didn’t you say anything, you daft woman?”

“I needed to finish speaking to the king,” she said calmly.  “He asked my opinion of things, I couldn’t very well tell him to bugger off.”

“I certainly could’ve.”  He sighed and sat down, pulling the chair so that he sat by the bed.  “Why won’t you be reasonable?”

“Because you were such a reasonable man yourself when you were maimed,” she pointed out.

Jaime made a face at her.  “I had a reason to be pitiful, I’d just lost my bloody hand.”  

“I nearly had my guts spilled out, I think I’ve got a reason to be stubborn about it.”  

“You are the most infuriating woman that I’ve ever known!” Jaime dragged a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Thank you, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

It took a few seconds and a double-take before Jaime burst out laughing.  Brienne had looked so innocent when she’d spoken, her eyes twinkling in spite of the pain, and a slight smile tugged at the corner of her lips.  Jaime realized she was actually teasing him, and he had to laugh. 

In the next minute, he found himself leaning forward, and pressing his lips against the slight smile on Brienne’s lips.  He felt the smile fall, and made to sit back. Brienne’s hand moved to his arm, and that was enough of a signal to kiss her again.  

A cough made them break apart quickly, and Maester Wolkan was standing in the doorway.  “I hear the lady needs a bit of tailoring.”

“Yes, please,” Brienne said, looking the Maester square in the eye.  “I took a walk this afternoon and I think one of the stitches came loose.”

Jaime slipped out of the room while she and the Maester spoke, and he leaned against the closed door.


	12. Knit One, Purl Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets put back together after busting a few stitches, and the Maester's none too kind about it. Jaime manages to smooth it all over, unsurprisingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm going to be busy on Friday, the chapter's a day early! If my weekend frees up any, I might get one out before Sunday, but don't count on it.

Brienne laid still and quiet while Maester Wolkan tidied up the loosened stitches, speaking only when he questioned her.  “You tore your stitches again my lady.”

“I’m not a lady.  And yes, I did. We were walking--”

“Yes,” the Maester cut her off gruffly.  “For once, you were doing what you were told.  I asked Lord Lannister to get you on your feet today but not to allow you to over-work yourself.”  A scowl. “I see that went unheard.”

“No, Jaime did try and ask me to take it easy, but it was my idea to push myself.”

A loud sniff was Wolkan’s only comment.  

“He’s the one who got me to the office, and then back here for good measure, tucked into bed like I’m supposed to be.”

“You were on your feet, too much too soon.  I want you to sit--not walk, sit--in the chair tomorrow for as long as you can stand it, and then back to bed.  Three times a day, meals sitting up in the chair, at the table.” He pointed for good measure, so that he could not be misunderstood.  “After that, I’ll look at your stitches and see if you’re ready for walking again.” Another huff. “The yards of catgut I’ve wasted on you.”

Brienne flushed dully in anger, though she knew the Maester was right.  But she knew no other way to be than herself, and just shrugged it off. “Sorry to have been a bother, Maester.”

“Maybe this time you’ll listen and take it easy,” he scolded on his way out.

\-----

Jaime leaned against the door, for the moment completely forgetting that Bronn was standing across the hall.  

“Well, you look gobsmacked.  What’d she do, punch you--oh, shit, she kissed you!”  Bronn whooped out a loud, long laugh as he doubled over.  “You look like a horse kicked you in the belly.”

“She did not kiss me.  For your information, it was I who kissed her.”  But the flummoxed look didn’t leave his face in the least, because that quick little touch of their lips had electrified his whole body.  

“About bloody time,” Bronn said, still laughing.  “I owe your brother five gold pieces.”

That got Jaime’s attention.  “You and my brother are  _ betting _ on me?”

“Technically, on your love life, or lack thereof,” Bronn specified.  “Tyrion said you’d kiss her within the fortnight, and I said it’d be six months.  Short little bastard knows what he’s doing, I got to give him that.” 

Jaime scowled at Bronn, and moved to stand against the wall, watching the closed door without comment.

Bronn looked sideways at Jaime.  “So what are you going to do now?”

Jaime heaved a sigh.  “Bring up dinner, of course.  See if she’ll agree to have dinner with me.”  

“See, this is where you’re going wrong.  Don’t give her a choice. Bring in the food and say that it’s time to eat, then sit down and eat like you’re meant to be there,” Bronn suggested.  “Women like it when you take a firm hand with them.”

“I’m sorry, have you actually  _ met _ Brienne of Tarth?” Jaime asked sarcastically.  “You take a firm hand with her, and you get her own firm hand right in the face.”

Bronn snickered.  “She’s never drawn your blood, you know.”  

“Not for lack of trying,” Jaime grumped.  About that time, the door opened, and Maester Wolkan came back out.  “Maester.”

“I have given the patient strict orders.  She is to have dinner in bed tonight, and tomorrow, to sit as long as is comfortable, and to have all meals in the room, but at the table.  Tomorrow evening, after the last meal, I shall return to check her stitches then, and see if she is ready for moving about again.” He narrowed his eyes at Jaime.  “I trust that you will see to my orders, Lord Lannister?”

“Of course, Maester.”  Jaime ducked his head guiltily.  “I was just about to go downstairs and ask for supper to be brought up.”

“Good.  Sit on her if you must, or tie her to the bed.  I’ve used half my month’s supply of catgut on her alone, re-closing her stitches, and for her own good, she must let her body heal properly.”  

“Good luck keeping her down,” Bronn muttered. “I’ll have the boys send up supper while you go in there and tell her how irrational the Maester is being, but not to worry, you’ll help her around tomorrow.”  

“I--”  Jaime’s jaw snapped shut, because he’d just been about to protest that he wasn’t going to do that when, in fact, that was nearly word for word what he’d meant to say.  “Sometimes I really don’t like you.”

“Mutual, Lannister.”  Bronn waved him off as he headed downstairs, and Jaime squared his shoulders as he went back into the bedroom.  

He’d been expecting Brienne to be sitting up in bed, yes, but the dull brick flush in her cheeks meant that the Maester had either angered or embarrassed her.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”  Brienne pushed the quilt down off her legs, and swung her feet to the floor.  “To hell with the bloody Maester, I’m going to eat at the table like a real person.”  

“I was just going to suggest that,” Jaime replied, knowing that it was far easier to join her than to stop her.  “And tomorrow, I’ll walk with you down the hall again.”

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped angrily, all but stomping the few steps across the room to throw herself into the chair.  “I’m quite capable--”

“Oh, shut up,” Jaime interrupted.  “You do need help, whether you want it or not, and you’re going to get it from me, unless you want me to go to the king and tell him you’re being uncooperative, in which case he’ll have the Maester--”

“Fine, fine, just shut up yourself.”  Brienne knew she shouldn’t be snapping at Jaime, because he had had nothing to do with what Wolkan had said, but where she couldn’t lash out at the Maester, Jaime was a fine target.  And suddenly she hated herself for thinking that, hated herself even more for doing it, and hating him for letting her. “Why do you do that?” she asked, just as angrily. “You shouldn’t let me snap when you’re not the one I’m angry with.”

“I’m not?”  Jaime’s surprise was obvious in his voice.  “I assumed you were just upset because you hadn’t been able to go back to your regular routine quickly enough and I’m the one holding you back.”  He pushed her chair up to the table and smoothed the wrinkles out of the linen cloth spread over it. 

“If your sister wasn’t already dead, I’d kill her,” Brienne muttered, loud enough to be heard but soft enough to be ignored.  

Jaime chose to ignore it, because he was in no way ready to discuss Cersei with Brienne.  Or anyone else, at least not while sober. “In any event, it is nice to know that I haven’t actually earned your wrath today.”

“There’s time yet,” Brienne pointed out, and forced herself to soften her tone.  “I didn’t like what the Maester said, and I was taking it out on you. I’m sorry.”  

The apology was a surprise; he was not used to people assuming he had feelings to be hurt, nor had Brienne’s snappish behavior really hurt him.  If it’d gone on longer, certainly, but he knew well how pain and misery could turn a person into a cunt to be around. “It’s all right; you’re hurting and angry about it.”

“You’re not a punching bag, Lannister,” Brienne retorted.  

“You know, I liked it better when you were kissing me.”  Jaime gave her a half-smile. “A lot better. It was much quieter.”

She swung a fist at him, and he ducked away easily, going to answer the door.  

Bronn stood at the head of a parade.  He carried in two trays heaped with hot food, then stepped aside to watch the rest of the parade.  One young boy carried in two horn-and-brass goblets, full of deep, red wine. The next boy had a bottle of the same wine cradled between his palms.  A third boy carried a basket of rolls and pastry, both plain and sweet, dripping with butter and accompanied by a small dish of fruit jelly. A young lady came next, carrying two large slices of a fluffy cake-type dessert, and the train was ended by Randall himself, struggling a bit to carry a kettle of warm, citrus-scented water almost as big as himself.  “To wash your hands in,” he panted as he plunked it down, and smiled hugely at Brienne. “I’m glad you’re doing better, my lady.”

“Thank you, Randall, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Brienne answered kindly.  

“They wanted to send the bloody candlesticks but I put me foot down,” Bronn interrupted.  “The King and Queen sent it all to show their gratitude to the both of you. If you need anything, I’ll be outside.  Got myself a plate, and when you’re done, Randall here will come back up and clear everything out.” He gave the boy a playful kick to the backside to get him moving, and followed to make sure he actually left.  

Jaime just shook his head as each course was presented, and he pulled up a chair beside Brienne, so they were sitting each side of the table’s corner.  “Well, it looks like we’re missing a feast.” 

Brienne was busily rearranging platters and goblets so that everything was in easy reach, and then dipped her fingers into the warm water before drying them off.  “I don’t think we’re actually missing anything except a lot of people and a lot of noise.” 

Jaime followed suit to wash his hands, and then laid his napkin across his lap.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone was trying to set up a romantic dinner for the two of us.”

“Good thing you know better.”  Brienne raised a fork and shoveled in a huge bite of gravy-covered venison.  “Because honestly, if this were a romantic dinner, I’d demand candlelight and a lot of honey.”

Jaime immediately got up and moved the candelabra from the bedside table to the dinner table, and dug a thin taper of kindling out of the fireplace to light the candles.  Sitting back down, he offered one of his most charming smiles. “I’m almost afraid to ask what the honey is for.”

Brienne contrived to look innocent.  “I have a sweet tooth is all.”

Jaime choked on his mouthful of wine, barely catching it in his napkin.  “Sweet tooth, my arse.”

\-----

It was nearly midnight when a pounding at the door jerked Brienne out of sleep.  “What the fuck do you want?” she asked sleepily, struggling to get out of bed.

Struggling because there was an arm over her waist, and a leg thrown over hers.  Plenty of warmth pooled at her back, and she was instantly aware of being overheated underneath her fully clothed outfit.

“Is he still in there with you?” Bronn demanded through the door.  “The whole castle’s on the search for the bastard.”

“What?  N--” 

A yawn interrupted her, and a fuzzy blond head raised over her shoulder.  “What do you want, Bronn?”

“Begging your lordship’s pardon, but you’re a right fucker.”  Bronn all but broke the door off the hinges as he came into the bedroom.  He stopped short, seeing them both fully clothed on top of the bedclothes.  “Whole keep’s been hunting for you. King’s called you to council and you’re nowhere to be found.”

“Bloody bastard King, doesn’t he ever sleep?”  Jaime stretched as he got up, wincing as his stump throbbed.  He’d left the hand on while he’d fallen asleep, and he was going to pay for it tomorrow.  He got up slowly, pulling the metal hand off and straightening the liner inside before smoothing it back over his stump.  “Council for what?”

“Fuck if I know.  Get your ass out of bed and present yourself to find out.”  Bronn stuck his head out. “Found the fucker!” he shouted, and the answering cheers and clamors were drowned out by a nearby male voice swearing.  

Eddison Tollet stuck his head around the door.  “Jon’s going to kick your ass for this, I hope.”  

Brienne just shook her head and sat up as soon as Jaime released her.  “Go on, get out of here, all of you, or you’re going to see me piss on the chamberpot.”

That scattered the men in the room, except for Jaime.  He remained sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning against Brienne.  “You know we’re going to have to talk.”

“No, we don’t, because nothing happened.”  Brienne shrugged her shoulder so that it fell more in line with Jaime’s to help support him.  “Go see what the King wants. I’ll see you in a few hours at breakfast.”

Jaime supposed that was better than nothing, and he got off the bed.  “Did it help?”

“Yes, it did.”  Brienne stood up as soon as Jaime did, heading for the pot behind the privacy screen.  

“Then I’ll see you with breakfast in the morning.”  Jaime kept his back to the privacy screen, and angled himself out the door so that nothing was revealed, not even the screen.  “Bronn!”

“Aye, no need to shout.”  The former sellsword leaned against the wall, under the nearest torch sconce.  “But I’d love to hear all about it.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Jaime answered truthfully.  “Because nothing happened.”

“Right, and I’m the Queen’s virgin mother.”


	13. Politics & Strange Bedfellows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime proves that he's actually got more than a single brain cell in his head, much to his own surprise. Apparently, he's pretty good at this kind of thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just all agree that I'm terrible at keeping update promises! I'm changing the update day to Thursday because Fridays turn out to be just a bit more busy than I like!

Jaime entered the King’s council chamber, which was merely a large room with a locking door, hung in the colors of House Stark, a black banner of the Night’s Watch, a red banner of House Lannister, and one with an onion that he supposed must represent Davos Seaworth.  “Aah, our missing man is found.”

“I was sleeping, Your Grace,” Jaime said, in a tone of voice that implied that’s precisely where he should have been.

Wisely, Jon did not push the issue, and had apparently made certain that no one else would either.  Which was just fine by him; he didn’t actually relish lying to the King about where he’d been sleeping, because that was the next logical question and he was not going to sully Brienne’s name.  

“Sorry to have wakened you,” Jon said honestly.  “We realize you have been busy watching out for Brienne, and we have waited until she is healthy again.  However, Tormund and our brother must leave for Eastwatch in the morning, and Edd must leave for Castle Black.  This meeting could wait no longer.”

“At least have the decency to provide--yes, thank you.”  Jaime took the cup of wine that offered to him, and downed it in a few deep swallows to clear the cobwebs from his head.   “I’m sorry, Your Grace. Now, what are we meeting about?”

“The Night’s Watch,” Jon said plainly, and pointed to the door.  Two gold cloaks closed the door and locked it, then crossed their swords in front of it.  “Edd and I have been worried about the Watch, as you all know. Jaime, you have had some thoughts that I find valuable, after much consideration.  I would like you to present them to the assembly here, and should they find them as sound as I, we will begin to discuss implementation.”

Jaime tossed himself down into the nearest chair.  “All right. You’re absolutely going to hate my first idea, which I hadn’t told you before.  But if you want to hear it, I’ll tell you.”

“We’re not dissolving the watch.” Jon shook his head.  “At least, not right now. That might be something to revisit in ten or fifteen years, once the realm is stable, but until that point, the Watch must stand.  So we must strengthen it.” 

Jaime wanted to argue his point, but he kept his peace.  Instead he spoke of his second plan. “Well, barring disbandment, my thought was to stop using the Night’s Watch as a criminal’s dumping ground.  Any that are currently in training to take the pledge, we would allow them to do so. However, any that are being gathered at this moment would be sent back to prison or execution.  And Jon--His Grace, I’m sorry--would issue a Royal Edict proclaiming that the Night’s Watch is no longer an alternative to prisoners.”

“That’s going to cut our enrollment to nothing,” Edd pointed out.  “I don’t necessarily disagree with it, but voluntary enrollment is… well, the last one was Sam.”

Jaime leaned forward, straightening unconsciously in his chair.  Everyone else in the room leaned in just a little, as if enthralled by Jaime’s voice.  “There would be a second Edict from the King, requiring that every family, from Flea Bottom up to House Stark, send at least a second son, more than one son if they have it, to the Wall.”

“That’s…”  Edd let out a deep breath.  “That’s daring. The noble boys will be trained, if Jon’s anything to go by, but the others?”

“His Grace mentioned Brandon’s Gift.”  

Jon snapped his fingers, and the fetch-and-carry boy rolled out a map of the North on the table.  “It’s not really well known because most don’t care, but there are two tracts of land set aside for the Watch,” he explained.  “Tormund and the other free folk have been settled here, in the New Gift,” he continued, indicating the space on the map. “But here is the first tract, called Brandon’s Gift, and it is good, fertile, though fallow, farmland.”

Jaime picked up from there, using his metal hand to hold the map corner down as he leaned over it.  “There’s a good chance of two things. One, your smaller Houses, the non-military houses, like the ones sworn to Highgarden for example, will know how to farm.  Second, some of these sons will be married or betrothed. If Castle Black will lend one or two builders to supervise repairs, masons could be borrowed from Winterfell and workmen can be sent from Casterley Rock and Harrenhall to see to repairs and rebuilding of the farms on Brandon’s gift.  Once rebuilt, when the Winter passes, these married sons could have their families stay on these farms, the betrothals honored by allowing these men to marry and keep the farms as well.”

Edd sat back, considering.  “There’s a lot of brothers today that’ll be pissed that we’re allowing the new ones to marry.”

“Not all of them,” Jaime pointed out.  “If they come to us single, they will remain single.  All recruits will be expected to take the same oath as the brothers; it’s only the married ones who are required by edict to take the black.  And that is only being allowed as these men didn’t know they would be called to the Wall.”

Jon laughed softly.  “Come on, Edd, it’s not like the brothers aren’t frequent patrons of Mole’s Town.  And be honest, if Sam could’ve kept Gilly and Little Sam on a farm, don’t you think he’d have done it?”

Edd made a face at the mention of their friend.  “Sam’s a odd one, including--”

Sam is a second son,” Jaime pointed out.  “Perhaps not the most outstanding example of it, but he is a second son.  Or was,” he amended. "Not by birth, I don't mean that. But in capability. As I've heard from Jon, he came to the Night's Watch almost helpless--and is now the Grand Maester in King's Landing," he continued, explaining his thought. "And after the... deaths of his father and brother, he has stepped up most admirably, by all accounts. The Watch could do worse."

“Jaime has suggested that release from the Watch would be possible by royal edict if the first son is killed, or dies without an heir,” Jon picked up smoothly.  “As in Sam’s case, after the death of his father and his elder brother, he would have been dispensed to return to Horn Hill. As it is, he has requested, and I have approved, legitimization of Little Sam, so Samwell Tarly the Younger is now official heir to Horn Hill.  This would be the example cited to others in support of this.”

The legitimization of the Tarly child was news to Jaime, but it was news he honestly didn’t care about.  “By requesting only second, or third sons, we leave first sons to carry on family names, to be heirs to their houses, and if the King would allow it, I would suggest third sons before seconds.  Second sons could then be sent to serve their Houses if bannermen are called, or if military service is needed.”

“And what of those families who only have daughters?  They won’t be required to send anyone, and how is that fair?” Edd challenged.  

Jaime thought quickly for that.  “Perhaps a dormitory could be established in Brandon’s Gift, for unmarried daughters.  They would be sent to serve as well, helping to work in the fields, to weave and sew to clothe those coming into service, even to offer child care for those few bringing families with them.  Overseen, of course, by a septa or two, for the protection of their charges.”

“I’m telling Sansa you said women were only good for cooking and sewing,” Jon teased.  “Although having eaten at Castle Black, I wouldn’t be opposed to the establishment of a cook’s position for a woman, provided we could guarantee her safe conduct.”

Edd agreed wholeheartedly with that.  “If you tell the brothers they’re going to get decent food if they don’t attack the cook, I think that arrangement could be made.  We might also luck up on one of the married brothers that will come having a wife that could cook. They could be installed in the Castle, under the protection of the Lord Commander.”  

"And, once the farms are actually producing, you will need people who can tend the fields, dry and store the food, and keep an inventory.  Women are ideal for this work, because those are tasks that usually fall to them anyway,” Jaime pointed out. “Especially those of a noble background.  They’re taught the ways of running a larger household for when they marry into their husband’s estate. They could easily become stewards and keepers, leaving the heavy work of tilling, reaping, and hauling to the brothers.  Not to mention that Sansa brought up the idea that many Houses around the North, Winterfell included, would like to buy the excess production from the Gift, as well as putting back a portion of the Gift’s production to be sent back to the families who sent their children to us.”

Tormund was nodding along.  “Don’t want children,” he finally said.  “Thirteen is the youngest we should ask for.”  

Jon was thinking of Ollie.  “I would also suggest orphan boys between the ages of ten and thirteen be sent to the Watch.  We would be able to teach them the soldier’s trade, keep them up in food and clothes and shelter, allow them to have a better life than begging in the streets.”  

“By that age, they’re not likely to be adopted out, but they could still be of use to the people,” Edd pointed out.  “Your brother lent out Winterfell orphans to Stark bannermen, when Robb called the banners in to war. They’re a resource we can’t afford to monopolize, especially the boys.  Best we not call them up until they’re thirteen or fourteen.”

“That comes to another problem, but we’ll leave reforming the orphanages for another day,” Jaime suggested.  “When are the children kicked out of the homes?”

“Thirteen or fourteen, depending on the house.”

“Well, there’s your answer, then.  Let them stay in the homes until they’re kicked out, and once they’re kicked out, they’re welcomed into the Watch.  And if they run away before then, they’ll still be welcomed at Castle Black.”

“They’ll be killed before they make it this far north,” Tormund pointed out.  “Best you set up a house or something in the cities where kids can come and they’ll be picked up by a wandering crow.”

“Perhaps the septs,” Jaime suggested.  “The Great Sept in King’s Landing is just being rebuilt, so it should not be hard to renovate, for example, the penitent cells into rooms for children.  Two beds a room, and that should be enough to house any children who come seeking sanctuary. Your… wandering crows, they’re called? Your recruiters could easily tour the septs instead of the prisons, offering any runaways the chance to take the black.  The septs in other cities could do the same, and to offset the charge of keeping the children and being responsible for them, perhaps they could hire the boys out, a fair wage for a day’s work paid to the sept.” 

“Yeah, and if the House hiring them out has enough room or money, they could take the boys on until they turn thirteen,” Tormund pointed out.  “Give them food and shelter for work, same as the Watch will.”

Jon turned to Edd, the Lord Commander.  “Edd, as Lord Commander, have you any problems with this?”

“Only one of any significance,” he admitted after a long moment’s silence.  “The current brothers now, whether criminals or not, will all be branded as such by the new arrivals, because that is the reputation of the Watch these days for good or ill.  There will be some violence between the already-sworn brothers and these new arrivals. And that’s not even counting in the fact that some of them will be going to castles like Eastwatch manned by the free folk, and they’re not going to like that either.”  

Jaime raised a hand.  “I have a suggestion, but you’re not going to like it.”  

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?” Jon asked.

“Probably,” Jaime agreed.  “If there’s a new class ready to take their vows, let them be held back so that they are trained like the newcomers.  Once the new brothers are sworn, discharge the current brothers. A one-time dismissal, no hold-overs save for the officers.  House Lannister will pay half the resettling costs up front, and let them return to wherever they came from. If they break the law again, they’ll be dealt with accordingly, but no criminal will ever return to the Wall.”

“That’s what I thought you would suggest.  We cannot leave the Watch undermanned; in fact, this entire discussion is to add support to the Watch, not cripple it,” Jon pointed out.  “There is no provision for the discharge of Watch members.”

Jaime shrugged.  “I didn’t say it was a good idea, and I did say you weren’t going to like it.  My only other suggestion is to make infighting an offense punishable by flogging.  No one is going to want to fight another brother if they’re both going to be horsewhipped for it.”  

Jon frowned, but Edd nodded reluctantly.  “He’s not wrong, Jon. And it might lay them up for a few days, but it won’t kill them.  It should deter all but the most determined fights, and even those should dry up after a couple of whippings.”  His frown matched the king’s. “It’d mean stocks and a whipping post at all the castles, but those could be put in rather quickly with a minimum of fuss.”

“I am reluctant to order men whipped for brawling,” Jon said after listening to Edd.  “But you are correct in that it would be the deterrent necessary. Lord Commander, I leave that to you.  I will consult with my wife and the Small Council, and I will draw up the edicts when I return to King’s Landing in two months.”  

A murmur of assent went around the table, and Jon looked at the window, where dawn’s light was just starting to break.  “Edd, Tormund, thank you for joining us. If you’d like to delay--”

“No, I’ve been gone too long.  I’ll stay long enough to see the ranger hanged, and then I’m riding out,” Edd broke in.  “I’ll have to explain to the brothers what happened anyway.”

Tormund shrugged, for his part.  “So long as I get to say goodbye to my woman, I don’t care.”  

The amusement in Jon’s eyes was fleeting.  “As soon as the sun is up, he’ll be brought to the gallows,” he reassured softly.  “You won’t be delayed an hour.” To Tormund he said, “Bran’s been getting ready for weeks.  His sledge is packed, his chair will be added, and his horse and saddle will be waiting. He can ride, but he’ll need help with the straps for his legs.”

“We’ll get it figured,” Tormund reassured.  “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to your brother.”  

As the others filed out, Jon flipped something to Jaime.  “There, that’s yours.” 

Reflexively, Jaime caught it.  At first he thought it was a coin, until he looked down and saw it was the Hand’s badge.  “What the--”

“Can you deny that you just did the Office of the Hand?” Jon asked.  “And were respected for it? Even more than respected, you were believed and accorded weight to your statements?”  

Jaime looked at the badge in his hand and sighed.  “No, I can’t.”

“And do you deny that you actually enjoyed yourself?”

That was a painful thing to admit.  “Yes, I did enjoy myself.” He closed his hand around the badge tightly, then brought his hand up and pinned it to the front of his tunic.  “Your Grace.”

“Lord Hand.”  Jon smiled. “Shall I offer my desk?  You can write to the Rock and have your household goods packed up and moved to the Hand’s Tower, so that when we arrive in King’s Landing together, you’re ready to move in.”

“And I’ll have to write my brother as well.  He’ll be thrilled; I’ll have to turn down his offer to be Master of Whores to take this on.”

At that, Jon laughed.  “What a sacrifice!”

\-----

When Brienne saw the door open for breakfast, she was not surprised when it was Bronn carrying the trays in.  She  _ was _ surprised to see two trays; she’d expected to dine alone as Jaime had been with the king past dawn.  

The hanging of the ranger had happened right at daybreak, and Brienne had been helped down to the courtyard to see it.  Jaime stood by the King, wrapped in a dark fur cloak, and he’d watched her instead of the swaying corpse. Maester Wolkan had hurried her back into the keep, though, tutting fretfully.  

Now, though, she was seated at the table, a coverlet thrown over her legs to keep her warm, and Bronn sat two trays in front of her.  “His lordship’s on the way,” he offered, and was smart enough to say nothing else. 

“Thank you, Bronn.”  Brienne pulled the lid off the tray and poked her fork into the thick slab of ham that rested on the plate.  

Jaime appeared in the next few moments, and sat across from her.  “Good morning, my lady wench.”

Brienne held her fork over his hand.  “Don’t make me stab you.” She looked at him, and her eyes froze on his tunic.  “You did it!” Dropping her fork, Brienne reached out and ran her fingers around the outer ring of the Hand’s badge.  “You said yes!”

“I said yes.”  Jaime watched her touch the badge reverently, then drop her hand.  “After the meeting last night, Jon handed it to me like it belonged to me, and I realized that I’d done everything the Hand usually does, except wear the bloody pin, so I pinned it on.”

Her eyes were shining brightly as she looked up at him, meeting his gaze squarely.  “I’m very proud of you,” she said sincerely, and that was all that she  _ could _ say.  

But it was enough, and Jaime’s expression grew both soft and sheepish.  “It’s just a title.” It was more than a title; it was responsibility and trust and fealty and honor, all of which he had earned on his own, with his own choices and his own service.  And it had been given to him because of respect, not because of who he was or wasn’t fucking. 

“It’s more than that.”  Brienne squeezed his forearm gently, then picked her utensils back up.  “So tell me everything.”

“You can’t want to know,” Jaime said, thunderstruck by Brienne’s obvious fascination.  “Except you do, obviously.”

“Of course I do.  And I’ve nothing but time, so, tell me all of it.”


	14. Our Last Supper (Alone, Anyway)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne have dinner together one last time before Brienne resumes her normal routine. They have a bit of a frank talk about things, and things happen.

Lunch went as quickly as breakfast had, in a flurry of people sorting through things left behind, riders sent out with vital supplies that had been accidentally left behind, and ravens from Winterfell filled the sky, carrying letters to all points of the kingdoms.  

Letters to King’s Landing, to all the great Houses, announcing the appointment of Lord Jaime Lannister as the King’s Hand.  More letters, telling them that Royal Edicts would follow in several months, to be ready and attend the King upon request.

Letters to Castle Black and Eastwatch-By-The-Sea. Telling them that their captains were on the way home, that Bran was coming to help with the Wall, and that decisions had been made that would soon man all the castles.

Letters to the bannermen of House Thorne, offering one-time clemency if they would swear to House Stark instead.  

Letters to the Citadel and Oldtown, to the Maesters, warning them that more Maesters would soon be needed for manning the Wall.  

Letters to Tyrion, inviting him to King’s Landing for the formal investiture of Jaime as the Hand.  

Letters to all the capital cities, asking that septs be opened for runaway children until they could be picked up by the Watch recruiters.

There had been almost an assembly line of sorts, with Jon writing and signing, Sansa stamping the King’s seal in hot wax, Jaime tying the scrolls to the ravens’ legs and releasing them from the windows.  A solid five hours of letter writing, not counting the personal missives that Jaime had written to Tyrion and to Casterly Rock, asking the steward of the household to pack his clothes and effects, and see them safely to the Red Keep, where they would then be taken to the Hand’s Tower.  

They had worked through lunch, and Jaime was exhausted, because they’d all been awake since the ass-crack of dawn, and he was more accustomed to sleeping until at least daybreak.  At the very moment, he was collapsed in the chair by Brienne’s fireplace, nodding off in front of the warmly crackling flames. There was honestly no telling where she was, but at the moment, he barely had enough energy to care.  He didn’t have the energy to get up and go look for her. 

Her bedroom door opened, and she came in, leaning on a heavy oaken cane in one hand, and in the other, a pitcher of wine.  Two cups were already on the table, and she dropped herself into the other chair before pouring both cups full and pushing one over to Jaime.  “Come on, drink up. You’re going to need it, we’re eating downstairs tonight.”

He cracked one eye open.  “Can’t I please claim your infirmity for one more evening?”  He wouldn’t admit that he was whining. “Just this evening, we’ll have dinner here, and tomorrow, I promise to take you downstairs for every meal, Wolkan be damned.”

Brienne eyed him critically, seeing the exhaustion in the slump of his shoulder, the stoop of his back, and the half-opened eyes.  “All right, just for tonight.”

“Thank you, beautiful woman.”  Jaime reached out and kissed the back of her hand, too tired for anything else.  

Brienne flushed at the compliment, and cleared her throat.  “Go ahead and take the bed when you’re done eating, you’ll never make it back to your room at this rate.”

Well, he really wasn’t going to argue that.  “People will talk,” he pointed out. 

“People rarely do anything else,” was the rejoinder.  “You’ve been looking out for me these past weeks, let me return the favor.”  She went back to the door, and opened it enough to shout. “Randall! Get yourself downstairs and bring up two plates for me and Lord Lannister!”

“Yes, my lady!”

“And tell Bronn where we are!” she shouted out after him as the boy pelted away.

“Yes, ser!”

Brienne sat back beside Jaime, cradling her arm across her stomach for a brief moment.  “I’m fine,” she said before he could ask. “Sometimes walking makes it hurt.” Sometimes  _ breathing _ made it hurt, but she wasn’t about to say that.  “A message came for me from Maester Tarly, directions for a different poultice, one that’ll speed up healing and help me get better faster.  Said the King himself had asked for him to hunt around and see if there was anything that could help me.” 

“That was nice of him.”  Jaime was quite happy sitting in the chair with his eyes half-closed while he listened to her speak.  

“The King is always kind, unless you’ve been unkind to him or his family,” she pointed out.  

“Yes, and that’s what you are.”  Jaime stretched, pushing himself to sit upright as the knock came on the door.  “Better answer that.”

Brienne swung her cane at him, missing his leg entirely.  She yanked the door open, glowering at Bronn on the other side.  “Come in and shut up about it.”

Bronn carried in two trays, trailed by Randall who was carrying a loaf of bread on a cutting board.  “Shut up about--oh, Lannister. There you are.” He put the plates down on the table, and took the bread from the boy.  “The King says that the second wagonload is on the way to King’s Landing, and you have his thanks.” He spoke in the voice of one who had no idea what his message meant.  

“Thank you, Bronn.”  Jaime reached for the wine that Brienne had poured earlier.  

Bronn turned around and pushed the boy towards the door.  “Out, boy.” He waited until the boy was gone, and down the hall, before he closed the bedroom door and scowled at Jaime.  “Oi.”

“No,” was all Jaime answered.  “No.”

“You can’t--”

“I can.  And I will.”  Jaime sipped, scooting back when Brienne came over and moving his legs out of her way.  

“Oh for God’s sake.”  Brienne slammed her cane onto the table, making the dishes rattle.  “Either say what you’ve come to say or get out.”

“Right, forgot.”  He turned to glare at Jaime again.  “You can’t keep hidin’ under the lady’s skirts, Lannister.  You’re going to ruin her reputation.”

“Isn’t that something for me to decide?”  Brienne cut herself a slice from the loaf, and as an afterthought, cut one for Jaime as well and shoved it towards his plate.  

“Thank you.  And no, it really isn’t.”  He picked up the bread carefully, depositing it on his plate and picking up a fork.  “Like it or not, you are a woman, and it is not up to you to decide who speaks about your reputation.”

Brienne raised her own fork, and stabbed the back of Jaime’s hand with it.  “In point of fact, it is up to the woman--any woman--to control her own actions.  What little reputation I have ever had has long since been spent as you’re both well aware, and I’ll thank you both to allow me to deal with it.”  

Jaime swore loudly, jerking his hand back as it was stabbed.  “For fuck’s sake, Brienne!”

Brienne ignored the swearing and turned to Bronn.  “Tell me, Ser Bronn. What, exactly, is the word on me and my reputation?”

Bronn met her gaze forthrightly.  “You might be a bit of a crazy woman, seeing as how you think you’re a man, but.  The King and Queen love you, hell, Lannister can’t get enough of you. Podrick thinks the sun sets in your arse, that boy in the hall thinks you’re magic because you fought a bloody dragon and didn’t get burned.”  And he still didn’t know how that happened, outside of sheer fucking luck. 

Brienne just nodded.  “That’s the kind of talk you hear about Jaime.  Or yourself, if you looked for it. The quality and the content of my character, not who is or isn’t in my chamber.”  

“Yeah, but if you don’t start being a little more careful, it’s going to be about that--and it already is, because of the search last night.”

She shrugged it off easily, taking a bite of the rabbit stew on her plate.  “Of course you’ll find him in here. He’s been helping tend my wounds for the last few weeks, overprotective bastard that he is.  By the Queen’s command, no less, was this responsibility given to him. Or am I wrong?”

Jaime was still rubbing the back of his hand against his thigh.  “Yes, that’s true, Sansa did put you in my care to make certain that you recover,” he agreed.  “As is common knowledge.”

“Therefore I do not see the issue.”  

“Stubborn wench, you don’t want to.”  Jaime threw a crust of bread at her head.  

The flying crust was dodged easily, and Brienne didn’t stop eating.  “Or I just don’t care.” Which wasn’t true in the least; she did care, as far as Jon and Sansa went, but beyond that, she didn’t want anything negative to reach her father’s ears, or anyone else’s that might tell him.

“Of course you don’t care, how stupid of me.”  Jaime threw another crust at her.

She batted that one away easily.  “If that’s all, ser?”

Bronn just glared at Jaime one last time for good measure, then stomped away, slamming the door behind him.

Jaime sat in silence for a few moments, and then tossed his napkin down beside his plate.  “So, we should talk.”

“About?”  Brienne kept steadily shoving food into her mouth, trying to decline the conversation.

“The weather?  The vintage of the wine served with dinner?  Or perhaps why I’m sleeping in your bed for the second night a row and you can’t look at me.”

At the challenge, Brienne put her utensils down and raised her head, icy eyes boring into Jaime.  

“Finally,” he muttered.  “Why didn’t you tell me to leave last night?”

“You were exhausted and needed to sleep.  The same reason I’m not going to make you leave tonight.”  

Jaime pointed at her.  “And the fact that you fell asleep beside me?”

“It’s my bed, idiot.  Where else do you expect me to sleep?”  Brienne dropped her gaze enough to pick up her napkin and wipe her mouth, then resumed staring at Jaime as if he were a rather fascinating insect.

Jaime huffed sharply.  “Do you even like me, Brienne?”

Her face flushed at the question, and she looked away from him.  “Of course I do. What kind of stupid question is that? You’re still a strong fighter, even if you think you’re not, and you’re trustworthy.  And you’ve got a decent head on your shoulders, if you’d ever go about using it.”

The jab about his intelligence made him touch the Hand’s pin on his tunic, and he realized that was precisely what she’d meant, to rile him up and make him stop asking questions.  He let his hand fall, and calmed himself quickly. Decided to poke the bear, as it were, to clear the air once and for all. “All this time you’ve been worried that I’ve got another woman waiting for me, and perhaps I should have been worried there’s another man waiting for you.”  

The flush in her face deepened, though it was tinged with anger.  “You know that is not the case,” she bit out, glaring at him. “And don’t even mention the wildling.”

“He seems very persistent; perhaps you’re trying to find a way to let me down gently and tell me that his charms have finally worked their magic on your heart and--”  Jaime’s words were cut off by a resounding slap to his cheek. 

“Get out,” Brienne ordered, standing on her feet.  A small trickle of crimson bled through the tunic, showing the violence with which she’d moved.  “Now.”

“Hit a nerve, I take it.”  He didn’t move to rise from the table.  “There’s still time to send a raven after him, I’m sure he’d come right back at the crook of your finger.”

“How  _ dare _ you?” she hissed at him, fingers gripping the tabletop tightly as she let it take her weight.  “When you have seen--and you know--that no other man will have anything to do with me, you would so accuse me?  You would think so little of me?” Her fingers curled into tight fists, digging already-short nails into the surface until they splintered.  

“Then why do you think it of me?”  Jaime finally rose to his feet. “Why do you so continually and obviously ignore that which is in front of your face?”

“And what is that, my Lord Lannister?”  Brienne was shaking with barely-controlled emotion.

“That you are as irrevocably in love with me as I am with you!”  He grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her hard.  

For the first instant, Brienne was shocked, and her first instinct was to shove him violently away.  His hip banged into the table, and he steadied himself against it with his metal hand. She touched her fingers to her lips, running her fingertips over the skin still tingling from his kiss.  

Then without a word she reached for him again, her hand going to the back of his neck and drawing him in for another kiss.

Jaime’s arms went around her shoulders in an instant, holding her as close as he could get her.  Her fingers were shyly playing in the ends of his hair as she pressed one close-mouthed kiss after another against his lips.  

Slowly he kissed her again, leading gently with small, teasing kisses that nipped her lower lip, brushed against her upper with his tongue, until finally, she panted softly for breath.  Angling his head, Jaime pressed in again, really tasting her for the first time. 

Brienne was startled and nearly pulled away at the rush of liquid heat that seemed to flow through her entire body from their joined mouths.  She trembled like a leaf as she drew him in, their bodies pressing together as tightly as their mouths. 

The kiss broke, and Jaime rested his forehead against Brienne’s, smiling gently at her closed eyes.  He nuzzled against her cheek and nose, pressing her head back just enough to tuck in against her neck.  “I think I’d better sleep in my room tonight,” he whispered into her skin. 

For once, Brienne was speechless, opening her eyes and pressing her face into Jaime’s shoulder.  

“You could come with me if you like,” he offered with a saucy grin that she could feel against her skin.  

“That would… that would defeat the purpose of you going back to your room,” she pointed out breathlessly.  It was about all her brain could muster at the moment. 

“Very true, and yet, I’m finding it hard to care at the moment.”  He stepped away from her completely, letting his hand slide down her shoulder and arm.

Brienne caught his hand in hers before it could drop off entirely, and she squeezed it tightly for a long moment.  “You should leave.” She cleared her throat. “Don’t forget we’re having breakfast downstairs in the morning.”

“I won’t forget.”  Jaime lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing first the back, and then the palm.  “Don’t forget me tonight.” He slipped out the bedroom door in a swirl of boots and cape, and left Brienne standing in the middle of the room, stunned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that just happened. No, you didn't imagine it. And yes, I know how evil I am. :D


	15. Food Tasters and Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Breakfast with the rest of the court after Brienne's injuries lead to some interesting discussions. Jon tackles Jaime, while Sansa has a heart to heart with Brienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters! Ration yourselves, because I've got plans next week and I don't know if I'm going to have time to get next week's chapter out. So here it is early, and if time works out, there'll be another chapter on schedule.

“Good morning, Your Graces,” Brienne said with a smile as she came into the dining hall.  

“Your Grace, Lady Stark.”  Maester Wolkan came behind her.  “I have inspected her wounds, as well as the new poultice sent by Grand Maester Tarly, and I can report that she is recuperating well.  In fact, Grand Maester Tarly’s recipe has improved her injury so well that she is free to move around--although I would still advise care for another week or more.  Perhaps easing back into regular activity, rather than jumping in with both feet,” he reported. 

“Thank you, Maester Wolkan, for your great care of our sister,” Sansa answered regally.  “Brienne, welcome back.” She broke into a smile. “We were beginning to worry we would be deprived of your company until we left Winterfell.”

Brienne still used the heavy cane that had been given to her; Randall had found it somewhere and brought it to her, and Wolkan had examined it and found it perfect for her needs.  She would discard it as soon as she was able, because she loathed to admit that she required help. But she would rather have the cane than someone else hovering over her.

Taking her seat by Sansa’s side, she let the cane lean out of the way against the wall.  “I’m pleased to be here, Your Grace.”

Jon leaned forward to see Brienne.  “We’re glad to see you back with us.  Don’t ever scare us like that again.”

“Pardon for that, Your Grace, but I would lay down my life to defend you.”  Brienne looked down at her plate when Jon smiled at her. It still unsettled her, getting so much reassurance from the people she respected so greatly.  

“Where is--oh, good morning, Lord Hand.”  Jon smiled beatifically at Jaime as he stumbled in.  

“Bloody Northmen don’t know how to respect a man’s sleep,” he grunted as he came in.  “Nothing but a block of ice in the washbasin.” He was exaggerating. Slightly. The water was thawed, but it was still ice cold despite being in a warm bedroom.  “Savages, you are.”

“Pampered Westman,” Jon countered with a laugh.  “You don’t know pain until you’ve taken a bath in melted snow.”  Which he had done at the Wall; in fact, he’d been told more than once that if he wanted to bathe, he’d do it in the snow or not at all.

Jaime laughed at that.  “Don’t ask me to imagine Your Grace bare-assed in the snow,” he teased, taking his place beside Jon as the King’s Hand.  

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that to you.”  Jon slapped Jaime on the back when he sat down, and motioned for everyone to begin eating.  “That’s the one thing I just can’t get used to. Everybody thinks you’re going to cut off their heads if they eat before the King.  I’m tempted to eat in my chambers just to give everyone a break.”

“That’s because some of the Targaryens did just that,” Jaime reminded him.  “Although, now that you’re mentioning strange dining customs, it might not be a terrible idea to hire someone trustworthy to taste your food before it comes to you.  Given that House Thorne has tried to kill you with brawn and failed, perhaps guile and underhandedness will be next. I would offer that it is safe at Winterfell, but when you leave for King’s Landing, bring someone with you.”

Jon scowled.  “I will not have someone dying in my place.”

“Nobody is going to die in your place, husband,” Sansa pointed out.  “Not if you write to Sam, and ask him to research antidotes. Do the same with Maester Wolkan, and between the two of them, surely a small supply of the most common and the most rare could be made up to take with us,” Sansa suggested.  “No one need die; even if there is something in the food, the antidotes could be kept--”

“By me,” Brienne interrupted.  “Or my squire, if you’ll let me take Randall with me,” she added quickly.  “I never leave the King’s side, nor will Randall leave mine. We could be entrusted with the antidotes, so that anyone who tastes and is harmed, will not be killed.”

“Let me consider this.  Lord Hand, a word in private after our meal, to discuss this further.  My lady wife, would you join us? And you, my Kingsguard?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Jaime answered.  

“Certainly, my King,” was Brienne’s reply.  

“You need not even ask,” was Sansa’s scolding reply.

“Good.”  Jon looked entirely too happy with himself.  After all, he was the king, and he was going to have the last word on the situation.  And that was going to be, no taste testing in his court.

\-----

“So that settles it,” Sansa said, clasping her hands and setting them on the table in front of her.  “You are going to have a tester as soon as we leave Winterfell, or at least as soon as we get to King’s Landing.  I won’t argue that it might be difficult to orchestrate while we are traveling, but we’ll figure it out as it’s necessary.  Wolkan and Sam can both be asked to scour their books, so that by the time we do arrive at that bloody city, the most prevalent poisons can be discovered and their antidotes created.”

“Which would be the responsibility of the Kingsguard,” Brienne picked up smoothly, as if she and the Queen had rehearsed.  “Myself, and one other member of the Kingsguard would be in possession of several ampules, each for a different poison. We would never be far from you, nor your taster, and so no one’s life need ever be in danger.”  

Sansa picked back up again.  “And it would not be an indefinite arrangement.  No more than a month or two, perhaps six at the most, and could be safely discontinued if there’s no more trouble coming from Alliser Thorne’s family.”  

Briene again.  “And should that threat re-surface, it is something that is easily prepared for.  Even if they choose a poison that is not covered by the antidotes that we have on hand, it will at least buy us some time to put together the true one.”  

Jon looked over to Jaime for support.  “Don’t look at me,” Jaime answered. “I happen to agree with them.”  He gave a shrug. “A few months of inconvenience is surely worth the rest of your life together with your wife and future children,” he added, tone of voice indicating it wasn’t really a question.  

Jon threw up his hands in disgust.  “For Gods’ sake, you people act like there’s assassins around every corner!”

“When the safety of the King is in question, no preparation is too great,” Jaime pointed out.  “The first duty of the Kingsguard is to defend the king from harm. The Kingsguard is sworn to obey the king’s commands, to keep his secrets, to counsel him when requested and to keep silent when not, and to defend his name and honor,” he finished.  

“That is the oath of the Kingsguard,” Brienne added.  “The first duty of the Kingsguard is to defend the king from harm,” she repeated.  “That means not just assassination. That means poison, arrows flying in windows, an axe thrown at your head.  It also means to protect the integrity of the King’s life. If there is a threat, then it is my duty to speak up about it.  And I am speaking, Your Grace.” 

“All right!”  Jon heaved a deep sigh.  “I honestly thought the King got the last word in matters such as this.”

“Not when the King’s life is on the line,” Jaime said stubbornly.  

“My luck to have a former Kingsguard for Hand,” he replied sourly.  “I will accept the kind advice from my Hand, the head of my Kingsguard, and my Queen wife,” the King finished royally.  “But I shall not compel anyone. Have word sent ahead to King’s Landing as soon as possible, and have anyone who is willing to serve be compensated, and tell Sam to watch over the process, and to negotiate a fair death payment guaranteed to the family of the volunteer should anything happen.”

“I will see to it, Your Grace.  I’ll write to Grand Maester Tarly myself.”

“Thank you, Lord Hand.  I will send a letter to Sam as well, to make sure he knows what I’m seeking.”  He turned to Sansa and Brienne. “My ladies, I thank you for everything you do for me.  But I need to confer with my Lord Hand alone.” 

Sansa put her hand on Brienne’s forearm.  “I think what my husband means is that he’d like to be alone with with the only other man in his current council,” she interpreted with a smile in Jon’s direction.  

“My Queen Wife is completely correct.”  Jon smiled and slapped Jaime on the shoulder.  “Come with me, Lord Hand.” 

Jaime shot an apologetic look at Sansa first, and then Brienne.  Brienne opened her mouth to speak, and Jaime figured it out within a heartbeat.  “I will guard the King with my life,” he promised her. 

Brienne did not look entirely happy, nor did she look unhappy.  “I will hold you to that, Lannister.” 

“I will not disappoint you, my lady.”  Jaime bowed at her, and then gave her a soft smile.  

Brienne smiled back, and let Sansa pull her out of the room.

Jon watched without comment until the door was closed, and then he heaved a deep, heavy sigh.  “It’s only breakfast, and I’m exhausted already.”

“You’re doing well, Your Grace,” Jaime reassured.  “I have served two other kings, all of whom faced their own unique… challenges.  You are only in the first ten years of your reign. You will learn to balance all of these things.  Robert didn’t; Aerys didn’t. You will, because you have a loving family. A life outside of the throne, something that will not consume you from the inside.  My sister, for example, had such a desire for power and need for control that it destroyed her. It certainly destroyed Robert Baratheon.”

Sighing, he moved across the room to kick open the grating of the room’s fireplace, and bent to start the fire.  The flames licked at the logs Jaime tossed in. “You may say the same of Daenerys Targaryen, that her lust for her family’s power cost her her life.  The difference, Your Grace, is that power is never a thing that you sought out. Not even when you were a brother of the Night’s Watch; you were elected by a single vote, that of the Maester.  But you were shown by your father Eddard Stark how to lead, and how to handle having power. You will succeed, my King. Because you don’t want it.”

Jon watched quietly as Jaime stoked the fire in the office and thought about what he’d said.  “I was a bastard,” he finally confessed. “I was the lowest of the boys, and yet, my father never treated me differently.  I learned the things that Robb learned, that Theon was taught, that Bran and Rickon were taught. I was privileged enough to have the education, but I never wanted the power.  Only the name. I wanted to be Jon Stark, more than anything that I could imagine. I had no idea the cost.” 

“Neither did your father.”  Jaime placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder.  “Ned Stark had every confidence in every one of his children.  He guided you all, gave his life for the honor of the Stark name.  Many men called him a fool, myself included. We were all wrong. The honor of a man is the gauge of his person.  I have recently discovered this, and I have striven to reclaim my honor as well. But as a wise woman once told me, I regained my honor fighting in the DragonWar, as has House Lannister.”

“If ever you see me straying from my father’s path--”

“I will say nothing, because you are a man separate from Ned Stark,” Jaime said frankly.  “But for the assurance that you seek, if I see you straying from your own path, I will speak it plainly.  You can tell Brienne and your other Kingsguards to be silent, but you cannot silence the Hand of the King.”  

“Thank you, Jaime.”  Jon offered his hand, and Jaime clasped it warmly.  “It seems that you made the right choice after all, taking the position.”

“Yes, well.”  Jaime cleared his throat.  “Perhaps I was being a little more resistant than I should have been to the idea.”

Jon tried not to smile at that.  “Any other ideas you think you might have resisted a bit too much?”

Jaime did scowl at that, and made a rude gesture to boot, glad that the conversation was heading a more convivial direction.  “None comes to mind, Your Grace.”

“Pity that.”  Jon moved to his desk, and pulled out several raven scroll parchments.  “Come, I have letters to write, as do you, Lord Hand. Think we can be done by lunch?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”  Jaime lit a thin taper of kindling from the fireplace, and used it to light the candle under the wax pot.  Then he pulled up a chair, reaching for one of the feather quills. “I remember my letters well enough, though my handwriting’s suffered a bit.”  

\-----

Sansa was glad to have an excuse to pull Brienne from the room, mostly because she was certain that Maester Wolkan would not be thrilled with all the activity so far.  “So tell me, sister,” Sansa said, distracting Brienne as they walked. “How are you faring under the care of our Lord Hand?”

Brienne focused her attention on Sansa, following her back to the dining hall.  “Quite well, Your Grace. He has forced me to lay abed, eat the meals provided to me, take the potions alloted me, and allowing me only the movement prescribed by the Maester,” she related.  “I had meant to come downstairs last night, but was forbidden out of his concern for my health. Quite honestly, if I stayed in my room much longer, I was going to kill something.”

Sansa laughed.  Brienne did not strike her as a cooperative patient, and she said as much.  “Well, given the difficulty the Maester had in keeping you abed…”

Brienne barely restrained herself.  “The Maester is simply over-cautious, my Queen.  I could have been--”

“Yes, I heard, you nearly burst your stitches walking down the hallway,” Sansa pointed out.  “Surely he wasn’t overreacting that time.”

“Perhaps not,” came the grudging admittance.  “But he was all the other times.”

“Of course.”  Sansa patted her arm.  “Arya is on her way to Storm’s End now, to see Gendry.  Roynan has been given dispensation to escort her, as he’s quite interested in the ironworks that Gendry oversees.”

Brienne nodded.  “Yes, Roynan will look out for her, and he’s a skilled craftsman.  He could learn from the boy, I think.”

“Yes, Roynan’s apprentice will be filling in for him here at Winterfell, and the King’s train will be leaving for King’s Landing within the month,” Sansa continued.  “We’ve given Roynan permission to remain at Storm’s End for up to a year, and to return when he feels it is time. Arya, of course, there is no way of holding her back from doing anything she likes.”

“There’s a bit of that in all the Stark women,” Brienne said thoughtfully.  

“I thank you,” Sansa said sincerely as they walked.  “For I take that as the highest of compliments.”

“You should, that’s what I meant it as.”  

“You’ve got a bit of it yourself,” Sansa added.  

That made Brienne smile, even as she looked down at her feet and flush lightly.  “You’re being too kind, my lady.”

“Not at all.”  She led Brienne through the hall and down towards the lady’s solar, which Sansa had outfitted as a second office.  “Sit with me for a while, I would speak with you about Jaime Lannister.”

Brienne followed Sansa into the office, and at the Queen’s motion, closed the door behind both of them, ensuring privacy.  “I am at your disposal, my Queen.”

Sansa moved to sit in front of the desk, so that she could be beside Brienne, and not across from her, so they could converse as friends.  Which she sincerely believed they were. “I know you don’t care about such things, but talk has begun to circulate. While it’s here at Winterfell, it shall not matter much; you are well loved here, and it is much in the vein of a family discussing a wayward daughter.  However, once we return to King’s Landing, it shall be quite different.”

“I don’t care about the talk, my Queen.”

“Please, behind this closed door, I am not your Queen, and you are not my subject.  Here we are friends, and sisters, and that is how I wish to speak with you.” Sansa shook her head.  “Can you do that, Brienne? Listen to me as a friend, and not as your Queen?”

Brienne’s instinct was to answer instantly;  _ yes, of course, my lady. _  But that was specifically what Sansa had asked her not to do.  “Yes, I think I can,” she admitted. “It may take me a moment, though.”  She offered Sansa a small smile.

“That’s all I ask.”  She let out a sigh of relief.  “So tell me, why was Jaime in your chamber?”  Sansa said it playfully, as though encouraging a girlfriend’s confidence, but she was very serious about getting an answer.  

“Exhaustion, nothing more,” Brienne answered honestly.  “When Bronn came searching for him to attend the King’s council, Jaime was asleep in my chamber because we’d spent the day walking and exercising, and he fell asleep where he sat.  I just put him to bed.” She flushed lightly at admitting that softness. “Last night, he was equally exhausted from the King’s long council, the hours writing the raven scrolls, and assisting with the hanging.  I’d meant to come downstairs for dinner, but the poor man was nearly asleep on the table. So I had Bronn and the boy bring up dinner, and claimed that it was my infirmity requiring a bit of extra rest. He did not spend last night in my chambers,” was her final bit of clarification.  

Sansa nodded.  “Of course I believe you, because I know you.”  She softened it with a smile. “But there are others who will not believe it, simply because they themselves are not as kind as you.”

Brienne flushed a little more deeply.  “May I set your mind at ease? Jaime and I have agreed that since I have recovered adequately, and he has accepted the appointment of Hand, he will no longer be devoting himself exclusively to my care.  He shall be returning to his own rooms and staying there.” 

Another nod, but the Queen looked troubled.  “And what of Jaime himself, sister?”

“What do you mean?”  Brienne’s jaw locked tightly.

Sansa’s eyes flickered to the door, making sure it was closed, and then back to her friend.  “What do you feel about Jaime Lannister?” she clarified. “He has taken on the office of the King’s Hand.  There will be offers for his hand, strategic alliances families of the course would wish to make. He will not be free to decline forever.”

“I have no claim on Jaime Lannister,” Brienne said softly.  

“But do you have feeling for him?” came the return question, equally as soft.

“Oh but of course I do,” Brienne answered, almost inaudibly.  “As a little girl, before I realized what cruelty the world had in store for me, I had dreams like every girl.  I dreamed of a knight, handsome and brave and true, that would carry me away on his white horse and take me to a castle.”  She shook her head at her own idiocy, self-disgust evident in every word. “I become the knight of my dreams because I knew I would never find one.”

“And then you met Jaime.”

“And then I met your mother,” Brienne corrected.  “And she treated me as no one else had treated me.  As a true knight, as a woman of honor she accepted my oath and swore to me in return.  And then she gave me a job to do. Escort the Kingslayer to King’s Landing, in return for the releases of yourself and your sister.”  She got up and started to pace around the small office, pausing to look out the window and then pacing again. “I saw every arrogant and indecent part of Jaime Lannister because he held out for the world to batter against, like a shield.  But I also saw the deeper parts of him, that he could not help to show. How that part of him was a shield. How, in his way, he envied me, of all people, because I had been the knight that he had once wanted to be. He saved my life, Sansa.  Have I ever told you that?”

“No, you hadn’t.”  Jaime hadn’t mentioned it, either, and Sansa was curious.  

“I shan’t bore you with the details.  Suffice it to say I was a novelty toy.  A man named Locke was sent by--”

Sansa raised her hand.  “I’m familiar with the man.”

“Yes, you would be.”  Brienne was still pacing.  “When he first captured Jaime and me, to protect me, Jaime convinced the man that my father would ransom me with sapphires, since Tarth is known as the Sapphire Isle.  When he found that was not the case, Locke was angry. I was… I was thrown into a bear pit in a dress with a wooden sword. Jaime tried to ransom me, and when that didn’t work… he jumped into the pit.  Crippled, swordless, because he knew they valued his life and he valued mine. He stood between the bear and me, and forced them to bring me up first, and then him second. He promised then to carry out my mission, to return to King’s Landing and see that you and Arya were returned to your mother.”  

Sansa just nodded, turning to watch Brienne continue pacing. “Is that…”

“No.”  Her hand went to her belt, and rested on the lion head of Oathkeeper’s hilt.  “I was in King’s Landing, after the death of Joffrey Baratheon. You were already gone, but Jaime was there.  He was ready for me; he had made for me a new suit of armor. It’s the one I still wear; it’s in fine shape. He gave me Podrick, and he gave me this.”  She drew the sword and held it out in both hands. “He gave me this sword, and asked me to use it to find you and protect you.” Her hands tightened around the hilt, and gingerly around the sharp blade.  “He said to me,  _ the best swords have names.  Any ideas? _ ”  A beat while she drew a deep breath.  “I called it Oathkeeper, in his honor.”

Sansa touched the Valyrian steel blade gingerly, knowing from her father how sharp the steel could be.  “He gave you his heart, Brienne.”

“I know.”  She kept the sword extended, though it trembled a bit in her grasp.  “I have done everything I can to keep it safe. Even return it to him, but he has declined, every time.”  

“Then…”  Sansa released the sword, and watched silently while Brienne returned it to the sheath.  

“I don’t know.”  Her hands twisted together.  “He knows that I love him. He has said that he loves me, and I do believe him.”

“But?” prodded the Queen gently.  

“But I am only a knight.  He is now Hand of the King.”

“But you are Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!” Sansa protested.  “You have a chair on the Small Council, as will Jaime. Though Kingsguards cannot wed, you will have a Royal Exception as the first female in the position.”  She waited for Brienne to pace past her, and then caught her hands to still her. “Tell me honestly, Brienne. Do you want Jaime?”

Brienne fell defeated into her seat.  “Any woman would be mad to turn him away.”  

“Yes or no.”  Sansa kept her grip firm so that Brienne could not pull away.  

“Yes, then.”  Brienne hung her head.  “Yes, I do.” 

“Then bloody tell him so.”  Sansa reached to lift Brienne’s chin.  “When you have decided something, when have you ever let anything stand in your way?”  It was rhetorical, so Sansa pressed on. “You haven’t. And there is no reason to now.”

“It  will be Jaime’s choice,” Brienne said, tugging her hands free and jolting to her feet.  “I will not force him into anything. Nor can you,” she added quickly, when Sansa opened her mouth.  “I spoke to you as my friend, not as my Queen, and I know that my friend will not compel anything that I don’t wish.”

“You’re tying my hands.”

“Yes, I am.”  Brienne nodded.  “Let Jaime and I work this out between us.”  

“All right, but if I don’t see some progress soon, as your friend, I’m going to tell him to open his bloody eyes.”


	16. So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersein, Adieu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weather breaks, so the court prepares to leave Winterfell two weeks early. Jaime and Brienne get caught by a peeping Randall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My time is loosened up enough that you get a chapter today after all, yay!

The blizzards broke two weeks ahead of expectations; it was no sign of winter’s end, for certain, but definitely was a sign of better weather.  There was no way of telling how long this break would last, and so the King took advantage of it. He gave the household three days to pack and get ready to travel, so that they could take advantage of the weather and be in somewhat milder climates when the snow began again.  

Brienne was overseeing the weapons wagon; two wheels were mounted on the sides of the wagon, to replace the runners once they got out of the packed snow of the North.  Most of the Kingsguard kept their personal weapons as well as their swords, in their own care, but there were still enough weapons that traveled with the King and Queen for their protection that an armory wagon was required.  

She checked each weapon personally before it was wrapped in oiled cloth against the elements, and laid carefully into the straw-filled wagon.The cold made her still-healing wound stiff and painful, but the poultice and bandages helped.  Under the blacksmith’s eagle eye, he helped make sure that she did not strain herself, and that the boys loading the wagons made no trouble.

Jaime was with Jon, helping to supervise the move of the King’s household.  Not simply the personal items; that job fell to Winterfell’s head steward. The items of office; the royal seal and signet, the official communications that had been sent, arrangements with the Maester to forward on any official raven scrolls that came to Winterfell before word of the King’s departure was widespread.  The trappings of the council room, the items in Jon’s office that needed to follow to the Red Keep, the items in Sansa’s office that needed to follow.

Sansa was in deep discussion with Maester Wolkan; they were deciding what supplies the king required, what extra Winterfell could spare, and how much the crown would pay for what was taken.  Lunch was a hurried affair of sandwiches and drinks delivered to the King and his court, with the promise of a final goodbye dinner that night, so that the court could rest up and be ready to depart in the morning with huge casks of mulled wine and hot ale.  

It was a bright point in Brienne’s day that when she sat to the side to eat her sandwich, Jon and Jaime were seated at the table across from her.  They all three sat at nearly the same time, and Brienne jumped up to remain on her feet until Jon was settled.

“For Gods’ sake, Brienne, sit down.”  Jon dropped onto the bench and grunted softly as he sprawled his long legs out.  

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“You’re never that nice to me.”  Jaime sat beside the king, and barely ducked the wadded napkin hurled at his head.  

“I don’t care if you sit down or not, Lord Hand.”

Jon laughed, putting a hand over his mouth to hold the food in.  Jaime looked particularly put out, and Brienne was actually smirking.  “Does anyone know where my lady Queen is?”

“She’s still in the Maester’s study,” Brienne volunteered.  “Randall saw her when he was bringing out lunch.”

Jon’s eyes searched the courtyard, and saw Randall hanging around the stable door. “Randall Umber!” he bellowed out.

Randall shot upright at his name, realized it was the King summoning him, and ran across the courtyard, landing on one knee with a small wince. “Your Grace!”

Jon’s eyebrows rose.  “Calm yourself, young man.  I meant only to ask if you knew the whereabouts of the Queen.”

“She’s with Maester Wolkan, sir.  I took her a tray a little while ago,” he answered, keeping his eyes on Brienne’s boots.  

“Would you consider running to see if she’s still there, and ask if she would like to join her husband at the table?”

“At once, Your Grace!”  Randall jumped to his feet and hurried across to find Sansa.

“You’re a bad influence on that boy, Brienne,” Jaime scolded.  “He didn’t used to run and flail like that.”

Brienne glared at him.  “There’s nothing wrong with showing respect for your King, Lord Hand.”

“Really?  Lord Hand?  Did you suddenly forget my name?  Ouch!!” He glared at Jon. “What was that?”

“Sorry, I was stretching my legs.  Didn’t mean to kick you,” Jon answered, completely unconcerned.

“Mmm.”  Jaime was still glaring, and he reached down to rub his shin.  

“I know your name, bloody idiot.”  Brienne scowled at him. “But you are now the King’s Hand, and you are owed the respect of the office.”

Jaime looked at Jon, who was nodding, and then over at Brienne.  “Then does that mean I should then address you as Lord Commander?”

Brienne blanched.  “Only if you wish to part company with your head.”

Jon laughed again.  “He’s actually right, you know.  If you insist on calling him Lord Hand, then he is well within his rights to respect your position as leader of the Kingsguard and address you as Lord Commander.”

Jaime laughed, and then pointed at Brienne.  “Do you realize this means you and I will be sitting on the Small Council together?  The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard has a seat, as does the Hand.”

“That has been recently pointed out to me, yes.”  Brienne didn’t mention it was the Queen who had pointed it out to her.  “That means we are, technically, of equal standing.” Which had also been pointed out by the Queen.  Repeatedly. At practically every chance.

“Then if you don’t call me Lord Hand, I won’t call you Lord Commander.”  Jaime nodded, and offered his hand across the table.

“All right.”  Brienne accepted the handshake, then dropped his hand in the next moment as she got to her feet to greet the Queen.  “My lady.”

Sansa shoved Jon’s legs out of the way and then sat beside him, pulling his arm around her waist.  “Behave, husband.”

Jon tried to look innocent.  “I haven’t done anything.”

“Mmm, I find that difficult to believe.”  She kissed the end of his nose, and then looked across the table at Brienne.  “Have you been keeping them in line?”

“Hardly, Your Grace.  In fact, they just bullied me into calling Jaime by name, not title.”

“Finally.  I’ve been pestering her for three weeks now to realize that the Hand and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard are on roughly the same footing, and should not call each other by honorific.”  Sansa leaned against Jon easily, reaching across for his wine cup and taking a sip.

Jaime was tempted to comment, to fall in with the others teasing Brienne gently, but he knew she would either resent, or be embarrassed by, anything else that came out of his mouth.  “It’s not an easy adjustment to make,” was all he said. “Ser Brienne is quite welcome to call me anything she likes. Except for bastard.” That was accompanied with a grin. “At least in public.  In private, call me anything you like.”

Brienne rolled her eyes, thankful that Jaime hadn’t jumped in with the King and the Queen to tease her.  She really owed him a thanks for that, and possibly an apology for being quite rude. “I’ll try to keep that in mind,” she temporized, finishing the sandwich quickly so she didn’t have to speak further.  

Which was perfect timing, in fact, because one of Winterfell’s guards came over to the table.  “Ser Brienne, the weapons wagon is loaded, everything is prepared, and here is the inventory.”

Jaime reached out and took the list.  “Thank you, I believe that is mine.” Which it was; Brienne would have simply passed it across the table to him because the Hand was responsible for making sure everything was in order.

“Yes, thank you,” she echoed, as soon as her mouth was empty.  “Has the saddler checked all the saddles? Cinches and stirrups?”

“Yes, ser.”  The guard nodded.  “The King and Queen each had repairs done, your saddle was re-fitted with a new seat, and the tanner is going to deliver new cinches for some of Casterly Rock’s saddles.”

“And the Hand’s?” Brienne asked.  “I know the worn strap and buckle was fixed, but have the rest of the saddle checked just in case.  Be sure that it’s not left out because it was recently repaired.”

“Yes, ser!  I’ll see to it at once.”  The guard bowed to the royal table, and departed.

Brienne reached out and took the list as Jaime held it out to her, and scanned it over.  Everything looked proper, from the spear count to the arrow count to the spare arrowheads.  “I don’t have my seal but I’ll sign it later. Everything looks proper to me,” Brienne reported, passing it back over.

“I’ll bring it by later, because I’ll have to collect the others from you, too, from the saddler and the blacksmith.”  Jaime tucked the weapons inventory into his tunic.

“I’ll sign them all then, and you’ll be responsible.”  

“That reminds me.”  Sansa reached into the pocket of her cloak, and pulled out four corked glass ampules.  Each one had a different-colored liquid in them. “These are the antidotes Maester Wolkan had already made up.  “They are for wolfsbane, basilisk venom, basilisk blood, and essence of nightshade. There were some others, but Wolkan and I both decided that these would be the ones most likely to be used on the road to King’s Landing.  Once in the city, there’s several others we will obtain from Sam.”

Brienne took the four glass vials and put them in a leather pouch on her belt.  “When we get to the city, I’ll have new belts made for the Kingsguard, with six slots for the vials.  That way they won’t have to be carried in a pouch and hunted for; they’ll be openly available and easily obtained in the crucial seconds.”

“Nobody is going to try and poison me,” Jon interjected.

“I might if you don’t behave,” Sansa teased, but sobered quickly.  “Brienne, if you’ll leave me that belt, I can fix those myself; it’ll only need a strip of leather and a few stitches here and there.  I can have it done by dinnertime.”

“Your Grace is too kind.”  Brienne rose again and unbuckled the leather belt she’d gotten from Tormund, and passed it over to Sansa.  

“Not at all; anything that helps to protect my husband is worthwhile.”  Sansa draped the belt so that it hung over her shoulder and across her chest, so that it would not be lost in the moving hustle.  

Jon was going to protest again when the steward of Winterfell appeared.  “Your Grace, we must speak.”

“Of course, Darion.”  Jon and Sansa both got to their feet, motioning for Brienne and Jaime to remain seated.  “Please, lead the way.”

Brienne got to her feet anyway, as did Jaime.  Once the King and Queen had departed, Jaime caught Brienne’s arm.  “How is your injury?”

“It hurts,” she admitted.  “The cold does it no favors either, but the guards haven’t let me lift anything heavier than a fork.”

“Good.”  He drew in closer to her, so that they were both out of the cold wind blowing through the courtyard, and hidden by a jutting corner of the storeroom.  “And how are you?”

“Feeling better each day.”  Her hand rested on his arm, and the metal was cold even through layers of clothing.  

“Ride with me tomorrow, in the train.  Jon and Sansa will be in the carriage, I’ll be alongside in case the King requires counsel, and you’ll be alongside as Kingsguard.  Ride with me tomorrow.”

“Of course,” was the simple answer, and when Jaime touched their lips together, she closed her eyes.  “Sit with me at dinner,” she whispered against them.

Jaime closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.  “Of course.”

From across the courtyard, Randall ran to the Queen, tugging urgently on her cape.  “What is it, Randall?”

The boy pointed across the courtyard, where Jaime and Brienne could barely be seen, tucked together in the shadows.  They appeared to be sharing a kiss, and the Queen could hardly contain herself. “Thank you, my boy,” she said, grinning at him.  “Run and ask your father if he’s decided whether he can spare you or not.”

“Yes, ma’am!”  The boy darted off again, and caught Jon’s attention as he ran.  

He turned and caught his wife smirking, and shook his head.  “What are you planning this time?”

“Planning?  Nothing.” _Perhaps a wedding after all._

“I know that look.”  

“Hush.  We have work to do.”

\-----

Randall Umber exploded out of the tannery, where he’d just finished speaking to his father.  He ran pell-mell across the yard, skidding on the ice and stumbling to a halt as his booted feet hit the cobbles.  “Brienne, Brienne!”

Brienne was standing just inside, talking to one of the Kingsguard that had been traveling with them.  He had just agreed to be the food taster for the King at the inns along the way, and they were shaking hands as Randall pelted in.  Kneeling with a wince, she caught the boy in mid-run. “Slow down, you’re going to plow somebody underfoot,” she said with half a laugh.  “What’s so important, boy?”

“Father said yes!  He said that I can travel to King’s Landing with you and be your page!”  He moved as if to throw his arms around Brienne, but stifled it at the last moment.  “Can I? Father says yes, if you say yes! Please, say yes?”

She straightened and took the boy by the hand, leading him over to one of the tables to take a seat.  Then she sat beside him. “It’s a very long way from home,” she said kindly. “And it’s very different in the city.  There’s going to be a lot more people, not all of which are going to be nice or trustworthy.”

“I’m ready,” the boy boasted.  “I’ll make a good page for you, I promise.”  He stood with his back straight. “I’m not afraid.”  

“You certainly will.  And to be honest, I would really enjoy having you come with me.”  Because though she might not really admit it, she had a fondness for the boy.  “But you should know that it won’t be as easy in King’s Landing as it has been here.  You’ll miss your family, and some of the other boys in the keep will likely be mean to you because you’re from the North.”

Confidence oozed from the boy. “I’m proud of my North blood, and I’ll fight anyone who says other!”  His young fists clenched tightly as he itched to swing at his imaginary hecklers. 

“If you’re certain, then yes, I will gladly welcome you into my service.  You’ll be page to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, which will give you a certain status in the keep.  You’ll be learning a lot more there; there’ll be tutors and other men to show you the things you’ll need to learn.  I know you can read and write, and you’ll probably have a second boy assigned to you so that you can help him learn how to keep my armor and how to see to my horses.  Are you willing to learn and serve?”

“I am willing!” he chirped happily.

“Then I am quite happy to bring you into my service.  Tonight, when we are all in the dining hall, stand behind me at the dinner table, and when we are done eating, the King will ask if there is anyone who wishes to join the court when we leave tomorrow morning.  I will say that there is, and he will ask you the same things I have asked you; if you are willing to serve, to learn, and to defend the king. Say yes, and I will claim you.” She offered the boy a handclasp, and he shook it carefully.  “Now go say goodbye to your parents, and make sure you’re packed.”

“Yes, thank you!”  The young man pelted back towards the tannery to share his good news, and Brienne just shook her head.  

“That was kind of you.”  Jon came in after Randall was gone.  “You were right to prepare him; it’s a damned rat’s nest at that Keep.”

“I’ll keep him safe, Your Grace.”  Brienne rose, but Jon was already seated by the time she sat down.  “I will look after him. He’ll be my responsibility.” 

“The Lord Chamberlain will help find rooms for the boy, near to yours.  He’ll also speak with you about furthering his education, as far as his letters and other particulars.”

“He can already read, Your Grace, and claims to write, though I’ve only seen proof that he can read,” she agreed.  “I think it’ll be rough for him for awhile, but he will learn to handle things. It’s a different world at King’s Landing than it is here.”

Jon looked melancholy at that observation.  “If I could manage it, I would name Winterfell the new home of the Kingship.  I would not leave the North, but that is not my choice. I bloody hate King’s Landing.”  He sighed. “It’s a decent enough place, it’s just not--”

“Home,” Brienne agreed.  “I have found Winterfell to be home much more than anywhere else I have visited.”  

“Thank you,” he answered sincerely.  “That means a great deal; my father and Lady Catelyn tried hard to make everyone feel welcome, even the bastard son.  They weren’t perfect at it, but they were welcoming.”

“There’s a lot of them in you, Your Grace.”  Brienne reached out and tentatively offered a hand on his shoulder in reassurance.  “You are a far better man than you think you are.”

“Jaime says the same thing, you know.”

“Because he’s a better man than  _ he _ thinks he is,” Brienne retorted.  

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Jon said with a laugh.  “Look at us, what a group we make.”

“You say that like it’s bad, Your Grace.  But I think the kingdoms could do worse than having a King who doesn’t want to accumulate power, a Hand who serves the kingdom as well as the King, and a Queen who is as smart as she is beautiful.”

“And a Kingsugard who never fails to protect her King, even from his own bad moods.”  Jon rose with Brienne, and he offered the handshake of equals. “Come, let’s get back to work before Jaime and Sansa accuse us of being lazy.”  


	17. On The (Kings)Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king's household--including Jaime and Brienne, are on the move from Winterfell to King's Landing. Things go about as smoothly as pigs on stilts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to those in the US, and Happy Thursday to everyone else! Have a chapter early because on Thursday, I'll be nibbling on turkey!

After dinner, Jaime was nearly ready to collapse.  They had all worked like draft horses to get everything ready for departure in the morning; everything was packed, except for the clothes on their backs and clothes for the morning.  The clothes they were wearing would be packed in the morning, and laundered once they returned to King’s Landing. Brienne had accepted a new page, and then Jon had given a speech saying goodbye.  Then Sansa had spoken, and even Brienne had said a few words before the hall raised their cups in a toast to the King and the Queen. 

Jaime was absolutely exhausted, and he nearly didn’t answer the knock at his bedroom door.  But he pulled himself up to his feet, and yanked the door open. 

Randall stood there, in a new singlet with the Stark sigil stitched on, looking proud of himself as he could be.  His hands were full carrying a tray, and on the tray was a steaming cup and two small cakes with green leaves garnishing the lightly iced tops.  “My Lord, Ser Brienne asked that this be brought to you tonight. It’s half a cup of mulled dreamwine, to help you sleep, and two of Lady Sansa’s favorite lemon cakes.”  Jaime reached to take the tray, but aborted the attempt when the boy pulled the tray back towards his own body. “They’ve got bay leaves on top, don’t try and eat them. They’re tough.”  He made a face.

“Please, bring it in,” Jaime said, fighting the smile.  “On the table by the fireplace, please.”

“Certainly, my lord.”  Randall carried the large tray into the room, and lifted it up.  There was a brief struggle as he lifted it to table height, but it slid easily along the table runner and Randall looked quite pleased.  “Compliments of my lady. She said to wish you a good night and pleasant dreams.”

“Give your lady my thanks, and tell her that I will see her first thing in the morning.”  Jaime took a small gold coin out of his pocket and offered it to the boy in thanks. “For a job well done, my lad.”  

“Thank you, my lord!”  The boy gripped the coin tightly.  “My father will be thrilled to get this!”  

“You better see if your lady needs you again before you go gallivanting off,” he offered, the smile turning slightly sad.  

“Yes, my lord, she said she was done with me after I brought that to you.”  HE gripped the coin in his fist until he transferred it to his pocket. “I’m going to stay with my father and mother tonight, and I’ll leave with the household in the morning,” he explained.  “Brienne told me.” 

“Then you had better get along, before it gets too late.”  He watched the boy scamper out, the closed the door to look at the tray.  He picked up the half cup of dreamwine, knowing it would take less than a mouthful to help him to sleep.  Underneath the cup was a small scroll, and he unrolled it quickly. 

_ Sleep well, Jaime.  Pleasant dreams. B. _

The B was stylized, with a sun in the upper half of the B, and a crescent moon in the lower half.  

Smiling to himself, Jaime tucked the little note inside the fur lining of his gauntlet, then put the liner and hand aside as he settled into bed.  He downed the dreamwine in a single gulp, and wrapped the lemon cakes in their serving cloth; they’d make a delicious after-breakfast treat for himself and Brienne.

\-----

Jaime woke before sunrise; one of the household’s older boys was already banging on the doors around him, and he heard Bronn’s sleepy cursing from the room next to him.  By the time they got to his door, Jaime opened the door in his dressing gown to greet them. “Good morning!”

“Good morning, Lord Hand.  A quick breakfast will be served in an hour in the dining hall, and then we’ll be ready to leave,” the boy repeated, as if he’d been saying it to every person he’d wakened that morning.  Which he probably had. 

“Thank you, sir.”  Jaime closed the door and started back to his closet, when a second knock sounded.  “A moment!”

“Put your pants on at least,” came the bellow, and it made Jaime smile.  

“Of course, my lady.”  Jaime pulled his trousers up over his smallclothes, and fastened them one-handed.  “Come in, please.”

The door swung open to reveal Brienne, carrying a cup of hot, steaming liquid.  “Tea from my father’s island. It’s a sort of mint, but it’ll help get you awake.”  She thrust it towards him. “Drink.”

“Thank you.”  Jaime took the cup, mostly to keep the hot tea from spilling all over his bare skin.  “And thank you for the dreamwine last night.” 

“It was nothing; the Maester was afraid I was in too much pain from the work yesterday and sent me a full cup.  I didn’t need it, so I thought I’d share. He’s sent me several vials for the traveling, just in case. I think he feels badly because of how gruff he was.”  

_ Or he likes you and is trying to show you in his way, _ Jaime thought, but didn’t speak it aloud.  “I saved the lemon cakes for a treat once we’re on the road.”

Brienne’s eyes grew wide, and she all but rubbed her hands together.  “Don’t let the Queen see them, she’ll trample you to get them in a heartbeat.”

That had Jaime laughing, and that’s what met Bronn when he staggered into the bedroom.  Brienne, fully dressed; Jaime, half-dressed and doubled over laughing “Fucking morning people.  I hate you both. I’m going back to bed, you dress the bastard.” 

The door slammed behind Bronn, and Brienne was trying to muffle the snickering. “I think we’ve upset Ser Bronn.”

“Ser Bronn prefers to sleep until midday, and wake up when the sun rises,” Jaime explained.  “He got that habit from my brother, I fear.” He turned away from Brienne long enough to pull the furred liner on over his stump, and the note fell out.  He caught it quickly, and tucked it between the metal gauntlet and the liner. “If you don’t want--”

“Give me your old clothes from yesterday, and I’ll put them with mine.  They’ll go to the laundry at the inn outside town, and we’ll have them back before we really get started.  His Grace says they always stop right outside Winterfell, in case anything or anyone is forgotten can be caught up.”  Her hand already held his under-tunic open, waiting for him to stick his arms in it. 

Jaime quickly shrugged into the shirt, doing up the ties as best he could until Brienne swatted him out of the way.  “Here, let me do that. Stubborn man.” She quickly tied each one so that it fit snugly, and turned her back so that he could tuck it into the trousers.  “You’ll need more than one shirt--oh, there it is.” A second shirt of heavy handspun wool was sitting out, as well as his over-tunic, leggings, outer trousers, and heavy leather boots.  “You’re all set, then.” She picked up the next layer and offered it to him, letting him settled the tunic over his shirt, then draping the outer tunic over that. The leggings were next, and then the fine outer trousers, and the boots were last.  “There you are, Lord Hand.” Brienne shined the pin on the corner of her shirt before offering to pin it onto him. 

“And will you be wearing your armor?”

Brienne made a face.  “Down to the bloody white and gold cape.  Useless fucking thing, it gets in the way when you’re trying to do anything.”

Jaime nodded.  “I always imagined it was something akin to a woman wearing a dress.”

“It’s worse.  A dress you can form around you, and get it to flow and move as you move.  That bloody cape spins out on its own.” Another face. “It’s one of many reasons why I prefer trousers.”

“I’ve only ever seen you in one dress, but I have to admit, bear mauling aside, you seemed to be handling yourself quite well in it.”  

That earned him a scowl.  “I hated that bloody thing, but I’ve still got it somewhere.  Podrick kept it faithfully, said it might be good to have if I ever needed to sneak in somewhere that I could pass as a lady.  I paid a woman to clean it properly and mend it up, and I’ve never looked at it since. I think it’s in one of my trunks.”

That made Jaime laugh.  “A dress as a disguise. Podrick is quite brighter than I gave him credit for.  He’s a wise lad.” 

Brienne was ready to chuck his gloves at his head.  “Here, put on your own bloody gloves.”

Jaime was still snickering as he pulled the glove over his metal hand, then worked the supple leather over his good hand without difficulty.  He sat down to pull on his boots, working his feet into them easily, then got to his feet. “Well, may I escort you down to breakfast?”

“I’d be honored.”  

\-----

The travel train stopped a little before nightfall.  They were riding as a train slower than a single rider might, and several people--including Bronn--had already caught up with them at different points during the day.  Bronn had brought a round of raven scrolls and distributed them with good cheer; several other riders caught up with the train to return items or supplies that had been either left behind in the confusion or forgotten about entirely.  

Brienne had ridden beside Jaime all day.  They had agreed, after the breakfast Winterfell had farewelled them with, that saving those lemon cakes for dessert, or even a private snack, was going to be the better way to go.  

Randall had ridden behind Brienne, following on a small yearling that was a gift from Brienne herself.  She’d bought it from the Winterfell stable especially for the boy, and he was taking to it like a natural rider.  The saddle was a generic one that was made to fit any young boy, but once they were at King’s Landing, there were enough saddlers and leatherworkers in the city that a custom saddle could be fit to the boy.  

“You’re quiet,” Jaime teased as they pulled up short, horses standing shoulder to shoulder by the gate around the inn while the King’s carriage and the rest of the train came in.  And it was a bit of a long train. 

“Just thinking,” Brienne admitted.  

“About me, I certainly hope,” he answered, nudging her shoulder.  

Brienne nudged back roughly.  “About the boy. I bought him the horse, and I’m going to get him a saddle, but that’s only a part of what he needs.  I just want to make sure he’s taken care of, that’s all, and I’m very worried that I’m not up for the task.”

Jaime knew that she wasn’t about to admit that to just anyone, and for a brief moment he reveled in the trust that it showed she had in him.  “You’re going to do fine. The boy is crazy about you, and the King wouldn’t have allowed it if he didn’t think you could watch out for the boy.”  

“The King isn’t always right, you know.”  But hearing it helped, especially from Jaime, whose opinion she was coming to value.  “I suppose I’m worrying about Randall to stop myself worrying about everything else.”

“Including me, I suppose?”

“Including you.”  Brienne nudged her horse and joined the last of the train.  “Come on, I need to be there when the King enters, and make sure it’s safe for him to do so.”

Jaime knew she was right, and fell in behind her.  But that didn’t mean this was the end of their conversation.  He was going to have this settled between them one way or another.

\-----

Sansa was seated beside Jon when Brienne and Jaime came in together.  “Look,” she said quietly, nudging her husband and turning his attention towards the entrance.  

Jon looked up to see the two of them coming in together, talking quietly to one another as they passed through the crowded room to get to the King’s table.  Jaime must have amused her, because Jon saw her laugh and then throw an elbow into the man’s ribs before bowing low in front of them. “Lord Hand, Lord Commander.”

“Your Grace,” Brienne acknowledged, and Jaime was right behind her.

“Your Graces,” he said, bowing again.  “May I thank you for leaving this cold-ass country behind and returning to a somewhat more civilized climate?”

Jon laughed loudly, and even Sansa smiled.  “You may. Now sit down and have your dinner.”

Brienne scowled at the lack of a food taster, but she made herself satisfied with the fact they would all be eating the same food, prepared and served by Winterfell-friendly people.  

“Brienne, if you would come to my room after dinner, I would like to return your belt to you,” Sansa said as several people came in to pour wine for the party.  “I have finished the new additions, and if you’ve still got the vials--”

“I do, Your Grace,” Brienne replied, touching the leather pouch that hung at her hip.

“Excellent, we can fit them in the new slots and make certain they won’t break.”  Sansa looked satisfied. “If necessary, padding around the vials can be added.”

“Sansa, please.  Enough of that; I’m not going to need the vials anyway, because no one is going to try and kill me.  Certainly not this close to Winterfell, so please. Not at dinner. Save it for the privacy of our chambers,” Jon pled.  “I really don’t want to think about it any longer.”

A glare was Sansa’s reply, and she let him have the full force of it.  “Certainly, my King.”

Brienne almost cringed at the sarcasm that dripped off those words, and leaned across to Jaime.  “I wouldn’t want to be the King tonight.”

“I heard that,” Jon called.

“You were meant to,” Jaime replied.  “Because we aren’t fool enough to order the Queen around like that.”

Jon scowled as the rest of the table erupted into good-natured laughter, and eventually, he joined in.

\-----

Brienne collapsed on the side of her bed.  Eight hours in the saddle in full armor had taken its toll on her wound; she was still healing, getting better every day, but it still  _ hurt. _  Randall had helped her off with her armor, and she’d managed to hide the slow trickle of blood from the boy by sending him to Sansa with a message, begging off the belt fitting until the morning.  

A knock rattled the door of her room, and she sighed.  “Come in and be quick about it.”

Jaime came into the bedroom, carrying the napkin-wrapped lemon cakes, but stopped short when he saw Brienne cradling her stomach.  “All right, lie back and let me have a look at the damage,” he chided.

Brienne thought about arguing, actually opened her mouth to do it, then snapped her jaw shut.  There was nothing to be gained by pretending she was fine, and everything to be lost by making it worse.  So she laid back on the bed, peeling her shirt up and her trousers down enough to expose the full length of the bandage.  

The herbal poultice recipe that Sam had sent was still working beautifully, helping the wound to heal without festering, but nothing could heal the jagged weal overnight.  It was still red and angry around the edges, and the sutures had been removed before leaving Winterfell. The cut had not torn itself open, but it was leaking around the edges.  “Good news is, you didn’t tear anything apart,” Jaime reported, probing the area around the cut for tenderness. “You also don’t appear to be infected, but the bad news is, you’re leaking like a broken pipe.”  

“Look in the saddlebag there,” she said, pointing with her booted foot.  “There’s fresh bandages in there, ointment for the wound, and enough dreamwine and poppy milk to calm a rampaging elephant.”  

Jaime pulled the bag over with his foot, and brought out the clean dressings.  “You’ve got enough for about a week in here, but we’ll be able to buy more on the road.  We’ll pass more than one marketplace, and if you need more ointment, we can buy what we need to make it.”

Brienne shook her head.  “There’s two jars in there; I should hope it shouldn’t take more than that before I’m well enough to not worry about it.”

“Mmm.”  Jaime made a grunt of displeasure as he dropped the bloody bandage in the refuse bin, and studied the bag.  “I’m going to lay on two layers of bandage before I wind it around. That should help cushion it a bit more from the weight of the armor and the stress of sitting up so much in the saddle,” he finally decided.  

“All right; I trust you.”  Brienne laid her head back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.  

Jaime stopped what he was doing at that, and left his hands on her bare skin.  “You really do, don’t you?”

“Course I do.”  She didn’t lift her head to meet his eyes; she couldn’t.  “I trust you with everything.”

Jaime moved quickly and carefully, binding the healing wound carefully and then tucking her clothes back in place.  “I’ll do my best to prove worthy of your trust,” he promised. 

“You already are, Jaime.”  This time, she did meet his gaze forthrightly.  “You’ve earned it many times over. You don’t have to keep proving yourself, not to me.  I know you.”

“Better than anyone else,” Jaime agreed, and let his hand rest on the small of her back.  “Here, I brought these for us to share, but if you don’t feel like it--”

Brienne’s stomach grumbled, and she snatched playfully at the lemon cakes.  “Feed me, Lannister, before I decide your hand looks better than the cake.” 

Jaime held the cake up, and Brienne allowed herself to take a single bite from it before taking it out of his hand to finish devouring.  “I have a question for you, Brienne of Tarth, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

Brienne swallowed quickly, relatively sure she knew what Jaime was going to ask her, and gave him her full attention.  “What is it?”

He dragged one finger over her mouth, and showed her the half-dozen crumbs.  “Are you always such a messy eater?” 

Brienne huffed out a laugh, half relieved that he wasn’t serious.  “Only when I’m starving,” she answered back, and before she thought, she leaned forward and licked the crumbs off his finger.  Salty and sweet swirled together on her tongue as she sat back, eyes closed as she let the flavors settle. 

Flustered and almost too surprised to move, Jaime looked from his damp finger to Brienne’s satisfied-cat expression.  He rubbed his finger against his thumb, then brought his hand up to the back of her neck. Her eyes flew open, and Jaime pulled her roughly into a kiss.  They closed in the next moment as Brienne trusted Jaime, letting him show her what he wanted. 

His nails scraped so lightly over the back of her neck, it was almost a tickle.  The near-breathless laugh was muffled by the press of lips to lips, and he placed smaller pecks against her lips until they parted for her to catch breath.  He took advantage, diving in and tasting just a trace of his own skin on her tongue even as it disappeared to be replaced by her own.

The half-eaten lemon cake fell to the bed unheeded, her fingers digging into his arms to ground herself.  Heat bloomed inside her, flowing up into her cheeks and flushing her face and chest, until she was so hot she was shivering.  The bandages itched, and her skin prickled all over, chafing against her clothes. 

She was terrified, elated, electrified.  Whimpering softly, she tore her mouth away from Jaime, panting softly.  “Jaime--”

Jamie’s tongue licked over his lips as Brienne pulled away from him, and it took all of his willpower to stop himself from chasing after her.  “It’s all right,” he murmured softly, cupping her cheek. He could see the flush with his own eyes, but he was still surprised to feel the heat boiling off of her.  His hand strayed down, checking the bandage by touch a final time, and he stood up. “I think I’d better leave.” 

“You don’t have to.”  Brienne stood up with him, staying close.  

“Yes, I do.”  He stepped back, widening the space between them.  “I’m trying to be a good man, and it’s… very difficult.”  

Brienne shook her head.  “You don’t mean that,” she said, but there was a definite question to her voice, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

Jaime couldn’t help the soft smile, because he wanted to laugh but couldn’t quite find the breath.  “Brienne, my beautiful little idiot. You always think the best of me, even when the worst of me is on display.”  His hand rose to play with the very ends of her hair. “You really make me wish I was the Kingslayer again, the dishonorable rogue that wouldn’t hesitate to take a woman’s invitation, even if she didn’t quite know what she was inviting.”  He moved his hand to her cheek. “Take my word for it, my lady. I would much rather be in here with you tonight than in my cold bed in the next room. However, for the sake of your reputation and mine, that’s precisely where I will be.”

Brienne let Jaime get almost to the door, then spoke again.  “I know what I was offering, Jaime.”

“At least let me think for a little while that you don’t.  Honor is easier in the presence of ignorance.” Jaime closed the door to Brienne’s bedroom, and rested his head against it for a moment before heading back into his bedroom.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, I did that. Not sorry. :D


	18. Westward Bound On the Kingsroad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's palace intrigue and they're not even at the palace yet. One might begin to think that drama follows the Royal Couple around...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, look at that, I missed a Thursday. Oops.

“I beg your pardon?”  Brienne blinked.

“Almost seven weeks,” Sansa repeated.  “I hate traveling in trains for this very reason.  A small party on horseback, we could cover it in half that time.  But stuck in a train like this? Almost seven weeks to get to King’s Landing.  Maybe longer, until we get out of the North. Once the snow and ice thin out, we might make better time.”

“I.”  Brienne coughed.  “I wasn’t quite prepared for that, Your Grace,” she said honestly.  “I’ve only ever traveled by myself, or with a party of two or three.  I hadn’t quite made the realization.”

That prompted a smile from the Queen.  “I do understand that feeling; we traveled with my father and King Robert, and it wasn’t even full winter then.  I had a hard time believing it myself, until we traveled for so very long to get to that place. The city’s still the same, although I don’t dislike it as I used to.  I suppose it looks different when you’re Queen than when you’re simply a subject.”

Brienne just shook her head.  “I don’t like King’s Landing. I think it holds many bad memories for a lot of good people.”

“Everywhere holds bad memories for someone,” Sansa pointed out, reaching through the window and signaling for the caravan to move already, please.  “Even Winterfell. I have bad memories of my home being invaded by the Boltons, but it is still my home. There’s far more good there than bad.” 

Brienne gently steered her horse to keep the placid pace so that she and the queen could converse.  “I wonder if it’s equally true that everywhere holds good memories, too.”

Both Sansa and Brienne looked towards the front of the caravan, where Jon and Jaime were riding side by side.  Brienne had not been happy about it, but Jon had overruled her, pointing out that he was either going to ride for a few hours or go entirely mad.  “I certainly hope so,” Sansa answered softly.

“I don’t think King’s Landing is happy for anyone, Your Grace.”  

“Perhaps not, but perhaps we can change that.  Jon is trying hard to make that blight a better place for everyone.”  

“I know he is, and I admire it.”  Brienne was honest with the Queen.  “I think His Grace is the best king that the Seven Kingdoms could have.”

“Thank you, sister.”  Sansa settled back in the caravan as it finally started to shift.  “If your wound is bothering you, you can ride with me for a little.”  

Brienne scowled.  “I’m going to kill that man.”

\-----

It turned out that she didn’t have to kill Jaime after all.  

When the caravan stopped for lunch, Jaime pulled Brienne to the side, away from the tables and the food preparation.  She sent Randall back to the King’s table, and followed him obligingly.

Jaime was quiet until they were several hundred feet away, where they could not be overheard.  “You are not to say a word of this to the Queen,” was his first warning.

Brienne bristled; she wasn’t keen on the thought of keeping secrets from Sansa.  “All right,” she finally agreed.

“The weather was not the reason Jon wanted to leave two weeks early,” Jaime confessed.  “I didn’t know until this morning, when he insisted on riding with me, but he’d gotten a raven scroll from Oldtown--not my brother, surprisingly, but one of the whores he has hired for his brothel.”  he waved away the rolled eyes. “This woman is apparently from Mole’s Town originally, and they had heard that House Thorne was going to hire another mercenary to attack the caravan on the road. So Jon mobilized the household and we’re two weeks ahead of schedule now, and while that won’t remain a secret for long, they won’t be able to catch us unawares on the road.”

“I’m going to hunt down every single man of that house and hang them from the battlements of the Red Keep,” Brienne growled.  “And why must I keep this a secret from Sansa?”

“His Grace is already concerned that she worries for his life, and does not want her to know how right she is.”  

“Of course he doesn’t.  No reason to tell your wife that she’s right to worry for you.”  Her jaw locked. “I won’t say a word, because I keep the King’s secrets,” she added.  “But he should tell her.”

“I’m sure he will, when the time is right,” Jaime soothed.  “And he’s determined not to ride in the carriage with Sansa because he doesn’t want to put her life in danger.”  

“Yes, well, that’s all well and good, but the man is putting a bloody target on his back.”  Her hand curled around Oathkeeper’s handle. “I might have to insist otherwise.”

“I will protect him with life, Brienne,” Jaime said seriously.  “You have to know that.”

“I do.  It’s not you that I doubt, it’s His Grace’s hard head.”  She stepped closer to him, and touched his arm gently. “I don’t want anything to happen to either one of you.”  

Jaime could feel the heat of her hand through the layers of his clothing, and he brought his hand up to cover hers.  “I know. I’ll be safe, and I’ll keep him safe.”

“You had better.  If anything happens to you, I will dig you up and kill you myself.”  She squeezed his arm again, and gently disengaged from him. “And you can tell the King that if anything happens to him, I’m going to tell Sansa everything, and let  _ her _ take care it.”

“I will relay the message,” he promised.  Looking around, he saw no one looking, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss onto Brienne’s lips.  “Thank you for your concern for my life, my lady.”

“You won’t have that life for long if you keep calling me your lady.”  But she smiled into the gentle kiss, and returned it with a peck of her own.  “Now go, make sure His Grace doesn’t get murdered by his wife, and I will make sure that Sansa stays safe.”

Jaime laughed at the idea of Sansa murdering Jon, which made Brienne grin.  “My lady.” Jaime bowed to her, and then ducked when she swung at him. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” he chided as he escorted her back to the table.  

Jon and Sansa were already eating, and they could hear Sansa’s voice across the clearing.  “Jon, I told you, slowly! You’re supposed to have someone testing things before you eat them!”

“This is from Winterfell, Sansa.  There’s no one there that wants to kill me, so yes, I think it’s safe for me to eat a sandwich without someone else eating it before me!”

"That’s not the agreement we made!”

“I’m not going to argue every time we stop to have a meal!”

Brienne and Jaime exchanged looks, and Brienne nodded subtly towards the King.  Jaime nodded, changing his direction to intercept the ready-to-storm-off king, while Brienne herself angled her direction to reach Sansa, still sitting at the table.  Jaime had caught up to Jon and was walking him back towards the camp, and Brienne sat across from the Queen. “My Lady.”

“Brienne, you are my friend and my sister.  If I asked you to close a blind eye while I murdered my husband in his sleep, would you do so?”

“Without hesitation,” Brienne answered with a smile.  “My allegiance is to my King as well as my Queen.”

That made Sansa give a small laugh, and she turned away from glaring daggers at Jon.  “Thank you for that.”

“You’re quite welcome, my Queen.”  She’d meant to say something else, but Sansa’s next question knocked all the air out of her.

“I suppose Jaime has told you about the raven scroll from Oldtown?”

“I’m--”  Brienne was baffled.  Her instinct was to lie, but she could not, not since Sansa obviously knew of it.  “Yes, he did, but you were not supposed to know of it.”

Sansa’s smile turned wicked.  “Well, my husband has his ways, and I have mine.  Eventually he will learn that I know what I need to know, and until then, he’ll have more than enough time to reconsider the error of his ways.  How I found out does not matter, needless to say I have found out. That is, I presume, why he is riding with Jaime, some idiotic idea that he has to protect me?”

"Yes, my Queen,” Brienne answered.  “He fears increasing your worries for his life.  But don’t worry, Jaime has promised to protect him.”

“He  _ should _ fear worrying me,” she agreed.  “Don’t you worry, Brienne. I will be speaking to Jaime myself this evening, so you need not worry about keeping secrets from him.  However, I do ask that you, and he, keep my knowledge from Jon. Let me worry about telling him in my own time.”

“As you will, my Queen.”  Brienne bowed. “I certainly hope I never land on your foul side.”

“Believe me, Brienne.  He will come to regret it."

To be honest, she had no qualms believing the Queen.  “I will find a moment at dinner tonight to speak with the king alone, if he does not ask for me first.  I intend to send the City Guard out with warrants to arrest every living member of House Thorne, to have them waiting in the Black Cells by the time we get to the Red Keep.  I intend to ask him to write the warrant tonight, mark it with his seal, and have Jaime and I witness with our seals of Hand and Lord Commander. That way there can be no doubt of our solidarity.”

Sansa nodded.  “And as I am supposed to be kept ignorant of this, when you and my husband retire to his tent, I shall ask Jaime to escort me on a quick walk around the camp; I will claim the need to stretch my legs after riding in the carriage all day.  That way, I will have him to myself and can explain the situation to him.”

“If ever I manage to find a husband, I hope to be as good a wife to him as you are to His Grace.”  Brienne felt the urge to hug Sansa, but refrained, as they were in public.

Sansa did not refrain, and embraced her tightly.  “If you and Jaime are not married by the new year, then I shall wash my hands of the both of you,” she teased playfully.

Brienne gave a little grin, almost too innocent for her face.  “Do you know how kind he was to me when I was injured? He has even helped me change my bandages on the road.”  She was not yet ready to disclose the intimate details of their kisses, but little did she know her blush spoke volumes her words did not.  “He is a good, kind man.”

For once, Sansa did not push about the blushes, for she knew of them through Randall.  The young boy was ecstatic to be of service to the Queen, and when she had mentioned how worried she was for Brienne’s happiness, Randall had been more than willing to share general details so that the Queen’s mind could be put to rest.  “Yes, he is. Well worth a good, kind wife that loves him in spite of himself, who has seen him at his worst and his best.”

Brienne’s eyes dropped to her boots.  “I don’t know about that, my Queen. But I know that I do love him.  I did not think I would love anyone, nor they me. But your mother, and then you and His Grace, have helped to show me that I am not the unloved creature I thought that I was.  I have begun to see myself in the way that you see me, and it’s daunting, my Queen. Very daunting. But I have bucked up my courage and opened my eyes.”

Sansa embraced Brienne again.  “You have made me so very happy saying that,” she said honestly.  “You are a Stark, a member of the pack now, and if you are seeing even a fraction of what you are worth to us, then.  I can’t ask for more.” But she would remember to thank Jaime for it, later. Because Brienne was positively blooming.  “There is hope for Jon Stark yet; if you can change, then he can change.”

The head driver of the caravan gave the call, and the stewards started packing things up.  With the snow holding off, they would hopefully make it to an inn, but if not, they would find a campsite a little after nightfall.  “I will be close, and Jaime will be with the king.”

“We are safe in your hands, Brienne.”  Sansa allowed one of the grooms to help her stand, and then guided her back to the carriage.  

Brienne watched Jaime and the king mount their horses, then stand impatiently while the last of the campsite was cleared away and packed up properly.  A sharp whistle from the head driver, and slowly but surely, the journey began again.

\-----

They did not make it to the inn.  A runner on one of the supply sledges splintered, and the repairs took so long, they were forced to camp where they stopped.  Most everyone was in a foul mood, including the royal couple, so the atmosphere was subdued and conversation muted.

Jon rose to his feet halfway through the meal.  “Lord Commander, I would speak with you. Alone,” he added, shooting a glare towards Sansa.

“At your pleasure, Your Grace.”  Brienne had already eaten most of her food, and took the mug of hot wine with her as she followed the King into his tent.  

It was luxurious, for a pavilion, but spartan in contrast to Renly’s.  “Jaime said he informed you of the situation?”

“He did, Your Grace.”  Brienne sat on the leather chair in front of the king’s work table, while Jon settled behind it.  “I would like to ask you to write an arrest warrant for all members of House Thorne. Sign it with your seal, then Jaime and I will witness with ours.  It will show unity to have the King, the Hand, and the Lord Commander all signing the warrant. When we arrive at the Red Keep, they can be questioned and punished, if need be.”

“Jaime suggested nearly the same thing,” Jon replied, laying out paper and ink on the table.  “He’d suggested only the men, though.”

“Begging the King’s indulgence, but Jaime’s sister, your mother, your wife, myself, we’re all proof that women can be just as deadly as men,” she argued. “Discounting a woman just because she is a woman is narrow.”

“You’re right, of course.”  A fleeting memory of Ygritte intruded, and was quickly pushed aside.  “I will include both men and women, but not children. Children will be taken into the Red Keep and kept there, under watchful eyes of the septas and the Grand Maester.  Gilly will help Sam watch over them and make sure they’re safe.”

Brienne signed in relief.  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

A groom stuck his head in the tent flap.  “Your Grace, the Queen has asked me to tell you that she and the Lord Hand are taking a walk around the camp to stretch her legs, and she will be back soon.”

“Yes, thank you.”  Jon waited until the tent flap closed.  “Jaime will look after her.”

“With his own life,” Brienne agreed.  

"Call the groom back in.  I will write the warrant now, and have him send Jaime in as soon as my wife is done with him.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”  Brienne bowed, exiting the tent to the sound of quill scratching on paper.  She flagged down the groom from before, relaying the king’s message before seating herself on a stump outside the tent entrance.  She intended to stay there the whole night, and perhaps catch a nap in the saddle on the road tomorrow. Gods knew they weren’t exactly breaking any speed records.

Sansa and Jaime came around the corner of the campside, escorted by the King’s groom.  “Lord Commander!”

Brienne sighed, deeply.  “Leave us, I will take charge of the Queen from here.”  She scowled at the groom. “His Grace is waiting for you, Jaime.”

Jaime brought his hand to his chest.  “You remembered my name.” He bowed to Sansa.  “My Queen.” Pausing by Brienne, he leaned to whisper in her ear.  “We need to talk.” He parted the flaps of the King’s tent, and let them fall closed behind him. 

Brienne rose to offer Sansa the stump for a seat, and the Queen laughed.  “Please, don’t ask me to sit. I haven’t sat so much for so long.”

She stayed on her feet beside the Queen.  “If you like, we can arrange for an exercise period for you every evening when we stop.  I’m not much for the ladies’ arts, but if you’d like to learn how to handle a sword or anything like that, I can take care of that for you.”  

Sansa’s eyes twinkled.  “I prefer the dagger. Far more up close and personal when you slip it between a man’s ribs or across his throat.”  

Brienne couldn’t even work up a scandalized expression, though she did try.  “For shame, a sweet lady like yourself.” 

The deadpan delivery and utterly unsurprised expression had Sansa laughing hard, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep the laughter in. “Brienne!”

Jaime emerged from the tent flaps to see both women laughing, Sansa doubled over and Brienne grinning.  “I hope the joke’s not on me. The King would like to see you.”

Brienne sobered, and touched Sansa’s arm.  “Stay with Jaime for a few minutes, and I’ll be back.”  Then she looked at Jaime. “Meet me here, in an hour. I’ll be on watch outside the King’s tent.”

Jaime nodded, and Brienne re-entered the tent.  

Jon was sitting behind his work table, wax pot warming over a candle.  “Here, Jaime’s signed and sealed, as have I. You’ll sign below Jaime, and once you’ve added your seal, I’ll close it up and seal the envelope with the royal signet.  Normally I’d send this to the Hand, and he would oversee the execution of the warrant, and were he not there, the Lord Commander of the King’s Guard. As you are both here, I am sending it to Lord Commander Manderley.  Wendel was faithful to my brother, and sworn to my family; he is a fair man and will cooperate with you upon our return to the city.”

Brienne had heard enough of the Manderley family to approve of the choice, even if she’d had no say.  They were well spoken of around Winterfell, after all. “Yes, he will take care in following your orders, and can be trusted,” she agreed, signing her name and then pulling her seal from around her neck.  It was slightly unwieldy, but she did not wear jewelry or ornamentation as a general rule. So, the signet hung around her neck, under her armor. She pressed the seal into the puddle of warm wax long enough to leave a clear imprint, then wrestled it back into her mail.  

“I’ve asked Jaime to borrow Bronn to ride ahead to deliver this; he’ll certainly make it to the city before we do, although I’m not sure by how much.  Weeks, certainly.”

That Brienne understood.  “Good choice, Your Grace. He can defend himself if need be, and he’s an experienced rider.”

“Jaime’s agreed to it, and he’ll approach Bronn on my behalf.  However, if the man says no, I want you to decide who among the guards with us that would be appropriate.”  Jon stood. “Jaime says he’s informed you of the situation. I appreciate your discretion.”

Meaning, I know you’re not going to tell Sansa.

Brienne just bowed her head.  “I keep the King’s secrets,” she pointed out; it had been part of her oath as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

“I appreciate it,” the King repeated.  “I know that you are close to my Queen as well, and I know keeping this from her must pain you.  You have my gratitude.”

“My first vow is to you, Your Grace,” was a neutral enough reply, and gave no clue that Sansa was well aware of what was going on.  “As it will always be.”

“Thank you again.  Please, if you happen to see my wife, would you ask her to join me?”

“She’s outside with Jaime; I’ll send her right in.”  Brienne ducked through the tent flaps, and found Jaime and Sansa still standing outside.  “He’s asking for you, my Queen.”

“Thank you, my sister.”  Sansa entered the tent as Brienne held the flaps open for her, and then disappeared.

Brienne dropped onto the stump by the tent.  “Good Gods.”

Jaime gave a bark of laughter.  “You said it, not me. Jon’s in over his head with her, and I don’t even know how she knows half of what she does.”

“Your sister wasn’t the only one she learned from,” Brienne pointed out.  “Littlefinger had more to do with that than anyone else, I believe.”

“Slick bastard,” Jaime agreed.  “I’ve got to talk to Bronn but then I’m all yours.”

Brienne nodded.  “Tell him that if he leaves, I’ll look after you.”  

“I don’t need looking after,” Jaime complained, but he nodded his agreement.  “I’ll tell him you said so. Having someone baby-sit me will probably set his mind at ease anyway.”  

“Good.  Our tents are near the King’s, but I won’t use mine tonight.  I’m taking watch tonight, and tomorrow night one of the other guards will.  There’s going be a Kingsguard outside the tent, just as one would be outside the royal chambers.”  

“I’ll get the list you gave me, and help you draw up a watch schedule, so no one has to sacrifice an entire night of sleep.  They’ll need to be alert on the road as well.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, thank you.”

Jaime touched her hair gently.  “That’s because you see yourself as the answer to everything, instead of letting anyone in to help you.  It’s not a bad thing, Brienne,” he quickly added, as he felt her stiffening. “You’re not used to relying on others is all I meant.”

That much was true, but it veered too closely to what she’d discussed with Sansa.  “Jaime, please.”

“Right.”  He kissed her forehead gently, and then stepped back.  “I need to see to Bronn. But you’ll still be here, yes?”

“Of course.”  She watched him leave, and wrapped her arms around herself in the darkness outside the fire.


	19. Arrival at King's Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royal train finally arrives and starts to settle in. And there's even better news; Tyrion comes by to witness his brother's investiture ceremony. And there's a secret afoot, but I'm betting it won't stay a secret for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's early! Thursday is going to be busy af, so, early posting it is.

The night went by without incident, and the morning brought many happy returns.

First, Jaime reported that Bronn had agreed to be messenger, and he’d picked up the letters from Jon that needed delivering to Lord Commander Manderley and to Sam Tarly before riding off at daybreak.  

Second, the watch rotation that Brienne had drawn up with Jaime’s help had stood the night with no problems, and was poised to do so the rest of the trip.

Thirdly, one of the younger Kingsguards, a youth by the name of Tybal Grees had volunteered at Winterfell to be the King’s taster, and was present at the breakfast table waiting to taste the thick slab of ham and eggs that the King would be served, which in turn headed off the argument brewing between the King and the Queen.  

Lastly, Brienne herself had actually gotten some sleep the night before, after her turn at watch, and was feeling rather refreshed, although dreading the rest of the day on horseback.  Jaime had checked her bandage first thing after sunrise, when they’d all been awakened by a local rooster.

Brienne had threatened to find that rooster and wring its neck. 

But Jaime had pronounced her fit, and after a decent breakfast meal during which exactly no one had been poisoned, everyone was mounted or in carriage waiting for the train to move.  

The head driver cracked the reins sharply, moving the horses into the early morning mist that hung over the Kingsroad like spider silk.  Shrugging her shoulders and listening to her armor rattle, Brienne fell in beside the carriage for another long day of riding.

\-----

This was the routine for over a month.  Breakfast at sunrise, ride until noon, break for lunch, start again, stop at nightfall, make camp or check into an inn, have dinner, stand watch, go to sleep.  then wake up and do it all over again. 

In that month, several notable things happened.

Sansa announced to the court that she was with child, confirmed by the King with a rather proud smirk.

Tybal had survived two poisonings with wolfsbane, thanks to Brienne’s antidote ampules, and Jon was no longer arguing about the need for a taster.  However, it also meant that Brienne and Jon were both spending a great deal of time together going over every single person in the caravan--with Sansa’s input, of course--to try and figure out who the traitor in their midst was.

Five weeks in?  They discovered it was their cook, who had mistaken the wolfsbane plant for another edible herb, had used it in several stews and dishes.  Each time Tybal had gotten sick, the food had been thrown out and no one else had gotten ill, which is why no one had told the idiot cook that he was actually trying to kill the King and the Queen.  

He got discharged for his troubles, even though Brienne had argued to hang him anyway; the King had insisted that you couldn’t kill someone just because they were an idiot.  Personally, she wasn’t in agreement with the King, but she let his decision stand.

Funnily enough, after the cook left, Tybal was never poisoned again.

The blizzard-laden snowy trail of the North had slowly given way to slightly more temperate weather as they grew closer to King’s Landing.  Rodin, the wagonmaster, had overseen the removal of the sledge runners and replaced them with the regular wheels, which sped up their pace quite a bit.  

Six weeks after leaving Winterfell, Brienne saw the first glimpse of the turrets of the Red Keep.  God, she loathed that city. Knowing that the caravan could not make it to the city before nightfall, Jon pulled it up short.  They rested for one last night in an inn outside of the city, treated like royalty--because, Brienne supposed, they actually were--and when daybreak came, they started one last march towards King’s Landing.  

Beside her as always, Jaime was riding close to the King and Queen, and she could see his body language screaming his discomfort with the place.  The Great Sept was nearly finished, hanging like a partially-fleshed skeleton against the horizon. 

“Do you know, my father was murdered in the Hand’s Tower?” Jaime asked idly as they drew close to the city wall.

Brienne was startled; she had known that Tywin Lannister had been murdered by the Imp, but not in the tower.  “No, I wasn’t aware,” she confessed. “Do you want to go somewhere else? I’m sure rooms can be found--”

“No, it’s my tower, and I’ll stay in it,” Jaime said, his jaw clenched.  “But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.” 

She nudged her horse over so that her horse was shoulder to shoulder with Jaime’s, close enough for her to touch him briefly.  “I’m sorry.”

Jaime nearly shied away when the horse came close, not realizing why until Brienne touched him.  “Thank you,” he answered sincerely, keeping their horses trotting closely together. “This entire city doesn’t have the best memories for me,” he admitted as the gates swelled before them.  “I don’t think I have good memories anywhere.”

“You have them at Winterfell,” she pointed out.  “And you will forge new ones here, to replace those bad ones.  And people who care about you will be a part of them.”

“Will you be?”  Jaime looked up, expecting to see decapitated heads on the gate spikes.  Instead, they were decorated with nothing more than frost and the occasional flowing flag or banner.

“Of course.”  Her first instinct had been to say,  _ if you want me to be, _ but she knew the answer to that.  He did, and though she would not admit it, she wanted desperately to be a part of the happiness he’d find.  

Jaime smiled at the answer; he’d been expecting equivocation, but had instead received a declaration.  “Brienne.”

“Yes?”  Their horses clopped over the bridge as they entered the city, and followed the body of the train towards the Red Keep.

“Would you like to marry me?”  Jaime asked it casually, trying not to betray how much the answer would mean to him.  

_ Of all the bloody moments in the world… _  Brienne couldn’t help but huff.  “Of course I would, you idiot,” she answered him back.  “If you’re serious, that is.”

“I am serious,” Jaime agreed.  “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am.”  Brienne finally pulled her horse to a halt and slid off it, taking the reins and pulling it behind her.  “Come down and talk to me.”

Jaime did as he was told, sliding off his horse and walking it, still keeping pace with the slow-moving train as it wound through the city on the approach to the Keep.  “Let me,” he said, taking the reins of her horse so that he was leading both. 

“If you don’t know by now that I have feelings for you, then I don’t know what else to do,” Brienne said frankly.  

A quicksilver flash of amusement crossed his face, and for a moment, he looked like the cocky young Kingslayer again.  “If I ever thought for a moment I could predict you, you’d do something just to prove me wrong. I never assume I know what you’re thinking.”

He had a point, and she said so.  “Fair enough. So if you’re asking, the answer is yes.”

“I’m asking.”

“Then yes.”

Jaime couldn’t help the smile that broke out again.  “My mother’s ring is packed in my things from the Rock.  It may take me a few days, but when I find it, I will do the thing properly.”

She had meant to speak, to tell him that the folderol surrounding a wedding was not for her, that she didn’t need a ring, but the happiness that lit up his face made her change direction.  “I won’t say a word to anyone until you’ve done it, so that the surprise isn’t ruined.” 

“I’m a bit beyond caring about surprises, at the moment.”  He leaned over, transferring the reins to his metal hand, and used his good one to reel Brienne in for a kiss.  

It was met by catcalls and whistles from the Winterfell men in the train, because this was the first time they had done anything more than shake hands in public. 

The loud whooping caught Sansa’s attention, and she stuck her head out of the carriage long enough to see Jaime and Brienne breaking apart, and she sat back.  The boy, Randall, had been riding with her the last few days, and she smiled at him. “Randall, when we get to the Red Keep, I want you to find out if Lord Tyrion has arrived yet, and if he hasn’t, when he will be here.”

“Yes, my Queen!”

\------

Jaime began unpacking the chests and crates of his belongings as soon as the King had dismissed him.  He knew where the ring should have been; he kept a small locked chest that held some of his mother’s personal jewelry, some few pieces of his father’s, and a few pieces of his own.

The chest was found with ease, but the lock was broken and the pieces had scattered over the open slats of the packing crate and into the boxes below.  Four other crates packed to the brim, and Jaime sighed. This was going to take longer than he’d anticipated. 

Lifting the chest out of the crate, he inventoried the contents quickly, discovering that his mother’s wedding ring, a strand of pearls, two pairs of earrings, a gold chain with a lion’s head that had belonged to Tywin, and one of Jaime’s platinum cuff bracelets were all missing.

He’d just started looking when one of the castle pages knocked on his door.  “Lord Hand?”

“Yes, come in,” he called, distracted.

“Excuse me, sir, but your brother is coming.  He’s sent word ahead that he’s almost at the gates.”

“Thank you, I’ll be right out.  If you would, send down to the stable and have them ready my horse.”  

“Of course, sir.”  The page bowed as he left, and Jaime straightened his cloak and polished the Hand badge with the corner of his tunic before departing.

\-----

Jaime met Tyrion as soon as his brother was in the city.  "Good afternoon, brother. You just missed lunch."   
  
From his caravan, Tyrion made a face. "Thank the gods.  I don't remember being quite fond of the cook's art while in King's Landing, but the palace wine selection was top-notch."   
  
That made Jaime roll his eyes.  "Come on, we'll get you settled in the Red Keep, then."   
  
"Thank you, no.  I've quite had my fill of that place in my lifetime," Tyrion refused flatly.  "There's lodging houses in the city--"   
  
"At least stay in the Hand's Tower," Jaime offered.  "It's better than any of the lodging houses, and gods know I have the room."     
  
Tyrion actually considered that.  "They were lovely rooms," he admitted.  "At least, they were when I had them."   
  
"They still are, there's new linens and bedclothes and such, but it's the same Tower.  You'll be comfortable there as long as you're with us, and the Grand Maester will be at your disposal," Jaime cajoled.   
  
"All right, fine, but won't your pretty little Kingsguard object to your hideously disfigured brother barging in on your space?"   
  
Jaime heaved a sigh that could probably have been heard in Dorne.  "Firstly, she isn't _my_  Kingsguard. Secondly, as Bronn has probably told you and you have seen yourself, she is not little.  Thirdly, she's not pretty. She's beautiful."   
  
Tyrion looked first at Podrick, whose expression had not changed, then to Bronn, who sat smirking in his saddle beside Jaime.  "Good gods, man, it's worse than you led me to believe."   
  
"Fuck you both," Jaime shouted in exasperation, and wheeled his horse around.  "Find your own bloody way into the tower."   
  
Tyrion watched his brother ride off, then motioned for Bronn to join him.  "We're going to have to save him from himself, aren't we?"   
  
"Get in line," was Bronn's answer.  "He's already got half the bloody court matchmaking between him and that woman, starting with the King and the Queen both."   
  
"Well, then, I think that's where we should start.  Pod, be a good lad and ride ahead, find Brienne of Tarth, and see if she can arrange an audience with His and Her Graces."   
  
"Yes, sir."  Pod slapped the rear of his horse to get it stepping faster over the cobblestones, and plodded towards the Red Keep.     
  
"Do you know, that boy is just as smitten as my brother?  He won't shut up about how fantastic and marvelous a knight that woman is."   
  
"She seems to have that effect on people," Bronn answered as the caravan carrying Tyrion started to follow Podrick.  "She's got half of Winterfell thinking she's the best thing since the Mother, and most of the Keep here too. And your brother's a damn fool over her, worst I've ever seen."   
  
Tyrion just grinned at that.  "I think we can help the idiot along, don't you?"   
  
"Aye, if you can talk to that blonde behemoth of a woman.  She's the one gumming up the works. Keeps telling the Queen that Jaime deserves better'n her, all that tripe."   
  
"Really?  Perhaps it's past time I present myself at court, then.  As Jaime's brother, I have every right to involve myself in his affairs, including that of a potential wedding."   
  
"He'll have your head, and she'll hit you," Bronn warned.  "She's left bruises on Jaime that'd knock over a horse."   
  
"I'm not a horse," Tyrion pointed out.  "And people hesitate to hit the crippled, especially the dwarven crippled," he added.  "Jaime might not mind, but I imagine his most honorable lady love would indeed hesitate to strike.  Which buys me room to be obnoxious."   
  
Bronn just shrugged and rode in beside Tyrion's caravan.  "Well, don't say I didn't warn you."   
  
"Oh, I'd never say that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you read that right. It happened.


	20. The Imp and the Maiden Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion discovers exactly why Podrick, Jaime, and everyone else in the Red Keep won't shut up about how wonderful Brienne is. Mind you, he may end up sharing that same sentiment, but he certainly won't act like the rest of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guess what? No sarcasm today!

Tyrion reeled at the slap.  It wasn’t half as hard as he’d expected, but it was still enough to send him back a few paces.  “My apologies, I seem to have offended you.”

Brienne shook her hand as she glared.  “Riding up behind a person and asking them why they haven’t bedded your brother is not a polite thing to say, and it’s going to get you slapped,” she pointed out.  

“I merely meant to ask after my brother’s situation.  You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve spent far too much time on my own of late, consorting with whores and the worst of men that come to take advantage of the services my establishment offers,” Tyrion explained.  His real reason had been to gauge Brienne’s reaction to Jaime, and if his smarting cheek was anything to go by, she was ass over heels for his brother. “I do beg your pardon.”

That got a derisive snort.  “The King and Queen are looking for you; they sent out word a week ago that when you get here, you’re to have an audience with them straight away.  But they’re busy right now, so you’ll have to wait until they’re done. Shouldn’t be more than ten or fifteen minutes more.” 

“It would be my pleasure to spend that time in your company, Ser.”  He’d learned from Podrick and Jaime both that she disdained being called a lady.

“Fine, but not one more bloody word about Jaime,” she warned.  “I’m not afraid to kick an imp.”

Tyrion held both his hands up, one of which held a half-full cup of wine.  “You have my word. Not a single word about my brother.” At least until they were in conference with Jon and Sansa.  “You are the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, are you not?”

\-----

Brienne nodded at the Kingsguard standing by the audience chamber door, and he opened it wide.  The court’s majordomo announced solemnly, “Tyrion Lannister, of House Lannister, wishes to have audience with Your Graces.”

Jon and Tyrion regarded each other for a long moment.  Tyrion broke the silence first. “Bastard.”

Jon grinned widely.  “Dwarf.” He got up from the throne, and went down to hug Tyrion.  “Welcome to King’s Landing, my friend. I hope your trip wasn’t too terrible.”

Tyrion returned the King’s embrace carefully, but waved away the concern.  “I don’t travel well these days, but it was certainly worth it.” Then he bowed towards Sansa, keen eyes picking out the gentle swell of her belly underneath the layers of robes and dress and undergarments.  “Your Grace, congratulations.”

Sansa briefly touched her stomach with her fingertips.  “Thank you, Lord Lannister. Tyrion,” she corrected. “I am very glad to see you.”  The awkwardness between them lingered, even though they had forgiven each other years ago, on what they had both thought to be Tyrion’s deathbed.

“You are most kind, Your Grace.”  He looked around, saw Brienne lingering off to the side, and decided to hell with it all.  “So what are we going to do with my brother and your Kingsguard?” he asked baldly. “Somebody has got to take the situation in hand.”

Brienne blustered behind him, but bit her tongue because it was a breach of etiquette to interrupt the King’s audience with anyone.  Exceptions were not made for annoying little dwarves, apparently. Although she was tempted to push the bounds of Jon’s forgiveness and do something drastic.  Like punch the little bastard in the face. Again. But to her further irritation, it was not the King but the Queen who answered.

“I have it on quite good authority that your brother and my sister are getting along quite well at the moment, and we need only wait until a sign is given.”

Tyrion obviously did not know what to deal with first, the thought of Brienne as a sister to Sansa--which, he supposed, was not all that strange--or the idea that Jaime was actually muddling along without screwing this up.  In the end, he tackled the safest one first. “Sister? I wasn’t aware, Your Grace.”

“Ser Brienne has done great service to our family, on more than one occasion.  She has earned the right to be called part of that family. My husband and I both owe the knight our lives, several times over.”

“Yes, Jaime did mention something about that to me, as did Bronn.  Something regarding House Thorne wanting to kill the King and the Lannisters.  Luckily for me, they either don’t know where I’ve gone or don’t give a damn. I hope for the former, because I would be shattered by the latter.”  Which was true, as far as it went. He’d be quite offended if he thought he no longer mattered. 

“We shall soon find out which,” Jon reassured.  “House Thorne resides entirely within the walls of this Keep now; the men have been sent to the cells, the women also, while the children reside in the Keep itself, under the watchful eyes of tutors and septas to ensure their safety.  In fact we shall have our first audience with Garlan Thorne, head of the House, later this evening. I know that Jaime and Brienne shall be there, but if you would like to attend as well, you will be welcome.”

“Audience, or interrogation?”  It slipped out before Tyrion could stop it.  “Begging your pardon.”

“Audience,” Jon confirmed.  “We shall of course be asking questions to which we will expect answers, but he will not be harmed, nor treated ill in any way.  Our honest aim is to discover how deeply the treachery in the House runs, and after conference with our Council, whether or not we should allow them one final chance to pledge their loyalty to the king before executing them all.”

“Then Jaime shall be of far more use to you than I, because I intend to be quite drunk by sunset.”  He shrugged as best he could. “After the trip, I believe I’m allowed.”

Sansa offered a compassionate smile.  “If you’d like, we can send the Grand Maester to you.  You remember, he is the one who cured Ser Jorah Mormont of greyscale.  We can’t offer you a cure, and probably nothing more than the Citadel always has, but Sam has a way of finding the unexpected.”

At that, Tyrion gave a smile of his own.  “That is kind of you, Your Grace, but quite unnecessary.  I brought with me quite enough potions, powders, and lineaments to cure twelve men.  Were it not for the King’s help, I would have died in the dragonfire, and his intercession with the maesters of the Citadel has procured for me the best treatments available.  I’m quite used to being a monster.”

“You are not a monster, Tyrion,” Sansa said, and as far as it went, that was true.  “All men do unkind things, but that does not make them monsters. If you change your mind, just send for Sam.  We’ll alert him to be ready if you call.”

“At least come and join us for dinner.  We plan to hold the ceremony for Jaime in three days’ time; he’s flatly refused the tournament that Robert threw for Ned, so when we insisted on the investiture, he agreed--though, most reluctantly,” Jon explained.  

“I would be honored to join you,” Tyrion agreed.  “And in three days’ time, I will be completely sober.”  For the length of the ceremony, at least. “And if he’s not betrothed in two weeks, I’m going to propose for him,” he warned, raising his voice to be sure that Brienne heard.  “As his only living relation, it is my right to do so.”

Tyrion was escorted out by the majordomo, and Brienne locked the doors behind him, so that she was alone with both monarchs.  “My King, My Queen… I have something to tell you that cannot leave this room,” she cautioned, coming to kneel on the stones before the throne.

“Oh, do get up.”  Sansa immediately raised Brienne to her feet, even as Jon was reaching to do so.  “You have both our words, that whatever you speak to us here shall not pass our lips again.”

Brienne looked nervously around the room, as if she expected a dozen or more people to be in hiding behind the Iron Throne.  “Jaime has asked me to marry him, and I have agreed.” She meant to explain more, but was caught offguard when Sansa threw herself into Brienne’s arms.

She caught the pregnant Queen easily, returning the weepy embrace as tightly as it was given.  “Silly woman, why didn’t you tell us sooner?” she demanded, laughing and beaming as she disentangled herself.  

“Because it only just happened today, as we were riding into the city.  He asked if I would care to marry him, and I told him that I would. He asked me seriously, and I replied seriously.  He’s looking through his things to find his mother’s wedding band, and once he has it, we will make a formal announcement.”

“Now that is good news.  It’ll make Tyrion happy as well, and gods know once word is sent to Winterfell, they’ll be celebrating for a month,” Jon said happily.  “I will go to my office at once and write a royal decree giving you an exemption from the celibacy requirement of the Kingsguard, but I shall not unveil it publicly until your wedding is announced, and it will be just one of my gifts to you.”

“That is too kind, Your Grace.”  Brienne caught Sansa’s hands in her own.  “This brings me to the thing I would like to ask of you.  Well, two things, perhaps three. My father will certainly attend, but I would be honored if you would sit with him, in place of my mother.”  She looked over at Jon. “And you as well, Your Grace, if you would sit beside my father as my brother.”

Jon came off the Iron Throne at that, and placed his hands around those of Sansa and Brienne.  “It would be my pleasure, and my honor, to be named with your family.”

“You didn’t even have to ask,” was Sansa’s teary reply.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted to.  To tell you both what your acceptance has meant to me.”  She kissed Sansa’s clasped hands. “Which brings me to my second request.  Jaime will cloak me in Lannister red, as is only proper. I will be wed in the colors of the Evenstar, but the cloak I will wear to the altar--”

“Will be the direwolf, of course,” Jon interrupted her.  “We would have it no other way.” 

Brienne let out the breath she had been holding.  “I had hoped you would say that.”

Jon tightened his grip on the women’s joined hands.  “Once the marriage is announced, I will speak to my heraldry maester, and he will combine the Evenstar and the direwolf,” he promised.  “You will be wed in both our colors, those of your blood family and of the Starks that have chosen you.”

That overwhelmed Brienne past speech, and all she could do was clutch tightly to Sansa’s hands.  “Thank you, your Grace, you are too kind,” is all she could choke out, and knew it was woefully inadequate for all the love they had bestowed on her with their words..  

\-----

When she left the King and the Queen in their audience chamber, she went immediately to the Keep’s steward.  The Winterfell-forged sword for Podrick had been packed in with Brienne’s private weapons, which--she found to her surprise--had already been delivered to the Lord Commander’s quarters.  

More than a little bewildered, she’d been gaping like a moron as she wandered around until she nearly tripped over the Imp.  “Out of the way.”

Tyrion snorted.  “Unless you’re going to the kitchen or the wine cellar, which is all you will find down that hall, I believe you’re the one who’s in the way.”  He held up the brimming pitcher of wine he’d obtained from the ever-helpful kitchen staff. 

Brienne swallowed her pride for a moment.  “You’ll show me where my quarters are.” She’d meant it to be a question, but it came out more of a demand.  

“Of course, my lady.  Where--ah.” He realized in an instant.  “You’ll be wanting Jaime’s old room, then.”

“Excuse me?”  She was tempted to haul the little bastard up by his collar and shake him.  

“You’re the Lord Commander, are you not?”  He gestured to the ornate braid on the cape, and the signet that bounced around under her armor.  “Therefore, you’ll be in the Lord Commander’s quarters. Given that Jaime previously served in that capacity, you will be in his old rooms.  Convenient.”

Brienne just gritted her teeth.  “Take me there, please.”

Tyrion resumed walking down the hallway, in the direction Brienne had just come from.  “Don’t worry. You’ll find your way around here in no time. It’ll soon seem like second nature to you.”

“Winterfell, at least, made sense in the way it was laid out.  This place makes no sense,” Brienne confessed. 

“The Red Keep was built by successive Targaryen kings,” Tyrion pointed out, taking turns and hallways with care, so that Brienne could see where they were going.  “When one king died or was killed, the next king kept on building. That’s how we ended up with the holdfast--Maegor’s Holdfast, it’s called--in the middle of the keep.  It’s a smaller castle inside the bigger castle as the rest of the structure was built around it. For now, the Holdfast contains the royal apartments, as well as the Queen’s Ballroom, which doubles as a nearly impenetrable safe space for the ladies of the court.”  He paused to drink from the pitcher, and nearly lost his footing on the rough stones.

Brienne reached out to steady the little man.  “What happened?”

Tyrion laughed bitterly.  “Now now, my lady, you wouldn’t want to hear such a terrible tale.  Betrayal, pain, dragons. Nasty business.” He took another, deeper drink of the wine.  “Suffice it to say, I earned my scars the hard way. Betraying a Targaryen Queen has consequences, you know.”  

That brought a nod of acknowledgement from Brienne; she well understood doing things that you must and paying the personal price for it.  “You and your brother are cut from the same honorable cloth,” she pointed out. “What Jaime did, he did for the best interests of the realm and the people, and what you did was for the same.”  Because she well remembered the fires and blackened lands of the DragonWar. “Neither of you will ever admit it to anyone publicly, but you’re both decent men who have had to make difficult decisions.”

The silence between them echoed off the stone walls as Tyrion gazed at her speculatively.  “I can see why he likes you,” he finally admitted. “Does he believe you when you tell him that?”

Brienne nodded.  “He’s beginning to.”

“Good.  My brother has never quite been able to shake the feeling that he wants to be the white knight for whole world, and yet, ends up despised by most.”  Tyrion led Brienne silently for a few more halls, until they came to the hall that led to the barracks of the Gold Cloaks. “Down at the end of the hallway, you’ll find a large door, go through it, turn immediately left.  That’ll lead you straight to the Lord Commander’s suite.” He paused a moment, shifting the wine pitcher to his other hand, and held his more mobile hand out to her. “Good day, Ser.”

Brienne shook the hand being offered to her, nodding once in acknowledgement.  “Good day to you, my lord.” 

“He deserves happiness, you know,” was Tyrion’s parting shot, as he headed back the way they’d come, towards the Hand’s Tower.  

Brienne followed the rest of Tyrion’s directions, and pushed open the door at the end of the hallway.  Outside her suite stood two empty suits of armor, burnt pitch black. She recognized dragonfire when she saw it, and shuddered; the sudden stench of men being burnt alive in their armor overwhelmed her, and she blinked the remembered battlefield away.  In that moment, she resolved to have somebody move those morbid fucking suits somewhere very far away from her. 

The suite was generously sized; an open reception area that could easily seat a dozen, a short hallway that led to a private bedroom, a large closet, a second smaller bedroom for a page or squire or groom, a private bath area complete with closing and locking doors, and Brienne smiled.  The last room she explored turned out to be a private armory, and inside the armory, her personal weapons had already been unpacked from their oiled cloths and stacked carefully, ready for display. 

There were several small daggers, one given to her by her father with the sigil of the Evenstar engraved on the handle.  Several others she’d taken as mementos of battlefield victories, and there was a sword already hanging on the wall, obviously meant to be worn by the Lord Commander as it matched to the smallest detail the uniform of the Gold Cloaks.  She disdained it, however, and touched Oathkeeper that never left her side. 

The sword she’d commissioned for Podrick had made the trip with no difficulty; the blade was still sharp and the steel unchipped.  The scabbard was bronze and leather, and the oilcloth had protected the supple leather from the harsh cold. It was still as perfect as it had been upon completion, and she put it on her shoulder as she went in search of the boy to give it to him.


	21. Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is still searching for something. Brienne's searching for Podrick, and a raven from Tarth brings a surprising reminder from Brienne's father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, because of holidays. For the same reason, there will be no update on 12/27/18, but will resume on 01/03/19.

The boy in question was in the Tower with Tyrion, pouring wine and helping Tyrion get settled into the rooms.  He knew these rooms well, because he’d lived here with Tyrion when Tyrion had served as Hand, and most of the staff still remembered them both.  At least the ones who had lived did. 

“Do you want your--”

“What I want is to drink and be left alone,” Tyrion said.  He tried not to snap at the boy, because he was only trying to help, but he was in pain and there was nothing that Pod could do about it.  No offer of liniment, potion, or draught was going to make it go away, but the judicious consumption of wine and ale would certainly help. “I’m sorry, Pod.  But I have everything I need right now.”

“Yes, sir.”  Pod bowed his way out of the door.  He knew he’d come back in a few hours, find Tyrion passed out drunk, or close to it, and he’d pour the medicine down the man’s throat before putting him to bed.  It had become routine, almost, but Pod didn’t resent it in the least. He liked the man, always had. 

Instead of worrying about Tyrion, he headed towards the Gold Cloak barracks, hoping to run into Geyhausen Thruil, the swordmaster who had once offered to teach him.  Instead, about halfway there, he ran into Brienne. “Ser!”

“Podrick, there you are.  I was looking for you; come on.”  She held the sword out to him. “Here, this is for you.”  

Podrick accepted the sword with reverent hands.  “This is beautiful, my la--er, Ser.” he quickly corrected.  

Brienne just smiled.  “You’ve earned it, boy.  Now come on, show me how well you’ve learned to use it.”  

“Well, not much more than I did with you, to be honest.”  He fell into step beside Brienne as he buckled the sword around his waist.  “I don’t need it so much in Oldtown.”

“We’ll have to fix that, then.  I’ll talk to Thruil, he’ll get you right in training again.  If you’re going to protect Tyrion, you’re going to need to know how to do more than swing that thing around like an idiot.  Bronn’s in the city too, if he’s not too busy with Tyrion, might get him to help Geyhausen out, put you through your paces like a good boy.”

“Oh, yes, he’s been by to see Tyrion a lot since we got here,” Podrick agreed.  “Is it true you’re going to get married to Lord Tyrion’s brother?”

“I’m going to kill that dwarf,” she promised.  “It’s none of his business, or yours for that matter, what I do.”

“Begging your pardon, Ser, but I was just curious.”  Pod looked down at his feet, a habit he’d picked up from Brienne without his ever realizing it.  “I’d just like to see you happy, is all. Like you are now.”

_ Like you are now. _  That gave Brienne plenty to think about as she led the way to the exercise yard.

\-----

Jaime had the contents of five crates spread out meticulously through his quarters.  A young page was in the room, waiting patiently for instruction. The door to the wardrobe was open, shelves and niches on the door waiting to be filled.  

He sighed.  “What’s your name, boy?”

“Alain, Lord Hand.  I’m assigned to the Hand’s Tower, and the Hand,” came the answer.

“All right, Alain.  Here’s what we’re going to do.  I’m going to shake the travel dust out of everything, and pass it to you to put away in the wardrobe or the drawers, understand?”

“Yes, Lord Hand. Shall I send for an armor dummy when we’re done?”  Alain stood at attention.

“Certainly,” Jaime answered, impressed at the boy’s eagerness.  The staff hadn’t been nearly as accommodating under Robert, Joffrey, or Cersei.  He picked up the first tunic he came to, gave it a shake to fluff the dust out, and when nothing fell off or out, he passed it to Alain.

Alain hung the tunic in the wardrobe, smoothing the fine fabric free of wrinkles before turning back for the next one.  

Jaime found his father’s lion pendant first, caught on the brass buckle of a leather belt.  He dropped it into the velvet-lined jewelry chest, and went back to the search with renewed determination.  

About halfway through, Alain began to sing.  “ _ The white wolf now holds the crown, once trampled in the dirt; a lion comes, with jaws of dread, all pity the rabbit caught in between.” _

“Needs work,” Jaime said with a laugh.  “But I like the imagery.”

Alain laughed too as he accepted a stack of smallclothes.  “The troubadour, he says it’s a work in progress. He hopes to get an audience with the king when it’s ready.”  He changed conversations. “Are you looking for something?”

“Yes.  The lock on my chest broke during the trip from Winterfell.  I’ve spread out everything from the crates beneath it, and I’ve found mostly everything except some pieces that belonged to my mother.”

“I could help you look,” the boy offered.  “And hang up everything after.”

Jaime motioned towards all the remaining piles.  “Please, help yourself!”

\-----

Brienne lowered her sword when Podrick’s blade crashed against her armor.  It was the first hit he’d managed to land, and she couldn’t help smiling. “Pod!”

Podrick was smiling himself.  “You were right about the way I held my weight,” he admitted.  “Once I remembered that, it seemed easier to move.”

Before Brienne could answer, a dagger whistled towards them, and she barely had time to bring Oathkeeper up to knock the flying blade aside.

A mad cackle.  “Getting slow, woman!”  Geyhausen was standing against the wall, watching.  “Lollygagging on your Northern vacation! Better put you through training again, make sure you’re still fit!”  Another cackle as he held out his hand.

“Piss off, old man.”  But Brienne smiled as she said it, and clasped his arm warmly.  “Haven’t seen you since the DragonWar. You’re looking well.”

“You’re looking brighter.”  He turned to Podrick. “Sheathe that sword, boy.  Take one of those rods from the rack, and swing it your full reach twenty times.  Get your arm strong enough and fast enough, then you get to try the sword again,” ordered Geyhausen, watching as Podrick scurried to obey.  “So what’s going on with you?”

Brienne blushed lightly.  “Nothing!”

Another cackle.  “You’re lying. I’ll just worm it out of the boy!”

Brienne was saved when the rookery maester interrupted.  “Lord Commander, this just arrived from Tarth.”

“My father!”  Brienne took the scroll, bid Geyhausen a quick goodbye, and hurried inside.  Once she was safe in her quarters, she unrolled the scroll filled with her father’s precise, familiar handwriting.

> _ My dearest daughter, I am overjoyed to hear your news.  Jaime Lannister is a good man, from all that I am told, and served loyally in the DragonWar.  I hope he makes you happy, my child. I shall arrive in three weeks with your mother’s gown and your dowry.  Love always, Father. _

Dowry.

She’d forgotten all about that, and was certain Jaime had, too, because he hadn’t mentioned it.  That would be one more thing for them to discuss tonight, after the interrogation.


	22. Interrogation Mode: Activated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King, The Hand of the King, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the Queen get down to the business of finding out whom was actually behind the attempts on the King's life. Meanwhile, Brienne and Jaime have a few things to work out ahead of Brienne's father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2019! Selwyn Tarth doesn't actually arrive in this chapter, I don't want to confuse anyone with that summary.

“It’s not an interrogation,” Jon repeated.  “We are going to ask questions--politely--and have calm discussion over the answers.  Then we shall convene the rest of the Small Council and come to a final decision. That is the Crown’s desire.”

“And we shall see it done, Your Grace,” Jaime agreed.  “But I think you should listen to your Lord Commander first.”

“Thank you.”  Brienne glared at Jon, then Sansa.  “Given the Queen’s delicate condition, I would ask that the prisoners remain bound.  For your safety as well, Your Grace, but mostly for the Queen. Being with your child--a child that would unite Targaryen and Stark bloodlines for a second time--that makes Sansa an especial target.  And bring in no more than one at a time; both Jaime and myself will be here, myself to protect you and Jaime to stand watch over the Queen. That will mean our attention will be split, therefore, one prisoner at a time.  Lastly, make it known that we shall strike to kill, not wound. If they do value their lives, it might help to remind them how easily they could die.” She fell silent after speaking her mind. 

Jon gave due consideration to Brienne’s words.  He himself was a Targaryen of Stark descent--his true mother Lyanna had been Ned’s sister, and he was Ned’s nephew, not his son.  Now, a Targaryen was doubling down on the Stark blood--for even now his child grew inside of Sansa’s body. And that was a miracle too great to risk.  “It will be as you have said, Brienne of Tarth. The prisoners shall be brought in one by one, remaining bound before us, and warned that any action will be rewarded with death, not injury.”  

Brienne gave a quick sigh of relief, and darted a look towards Sansa.  Who was staring daggers right at her, but Brienne was not certain she minded.  If Sansa glaring daggers at her meant Sansa would be kept safe, then Brienne was willing to accept the glares from the Queen.  

Jon rose from the Iron Throne.  “Bring Garland Thorne in to us.”

The guard by the door nodded, and Brienne took her place, standing to the side and behind of Jon as he sat on the Throne.  Jaime took his position by Sansa, sitting on the chair provided and crossed his legs at the ankle. 

A manacled man was brought in, and pushed to his knees before the Iron Throne.  “You are Garland Thorne?” Jon asked. 

“Yes, Your Grace.”  The kneeling man did not raise his head as he answered the questions put to him.

“You understand that you are here to answer for crimes against our royal family?”  

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And you understand that your life is forfeit if you should make any move towards myself or my Queen that the Kingsguard deems dangerous.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Have you anything to say before we begin?”

“Only that I intend no harm to you or your lady wife.”  

“Then stand, and speak honestly.”  

Garland Thorne struggled to his feet, the heavy chains clanking.  “Your Grace, why have you brought all the members of my House here to the Red Keep?”  

Jon settled himself back on the Iron Throne.  “Because there were attempts made on my life. Attempts that I cannot and will not forgive.  One was done, according to those responsible, on the orders of House Thorne, with intelligence given to us by another that a second attempt was coming.  It did not materialize, however.”

“I don’t know who would have moved against you, certainly not in the name of my House,” Thorne protested.  

“They were brothers of the Night’s Watch; Matthar and Balian,” Brienne spoke up.  “Matthar was killed during the attempt on the King’s life; Balian was questioned and then executed once he had given all the information he had to give.”

“Matthar?”  Garland’s chains shook a little as he attempted to pace, one step to the left, turn, and back two steps right.  “He joined the Night’s Watch? I don’t know a Matthar, or a Balian, Your Grace. Perhaps you should speak to my brother in law; his name is Lottar and he is keeper of the House bloodlines.  He would know of this Matthar, or Balian, and how they are related to the House,” he explained.

Jon nodded.  “We will have him brought to us right away, and hope that he can clear things up for us.  If he does not, we will have to discuss further the actions of House Thorne and what must be done.”  

Brienne signaled for the guard to take Garland out, and the Head of House Thorne looked slightly surprised that he was being removed from the room.  “Lottar, please,” Brienne ordered, and stood still behind Jon. “Do you believe him, Your Grace?”

Jon waited until Garland was removed, and then made his answer.  “Yes, I do. He seemed honestly mystified, and was all too happy to volunteer the name of his brother to answer the questions we have of Matthar’s true lineage,” he pointed out.  

Jaime rose from his chair and sidled over to Brienne, listening to Jon.  Behind the barrier of the Iron Throne, he picked up her hand and slid a gold band onto her ring finger.  Then he winked, and stepped back to stand behind Sansa.. 

Brienne lifted her hand to look at the ring she’d just been given, but before she could speak, the guard returned with a second bound man.  “This is Lottar?” she asked, a bit surprised. He looked nothing like she expected a genealogist would; he was nearly seven feet tall, with a bushy beard and hair pulled back into a tight braided queue, like a wildman’s.  The gold band seemed to be making her hand tingle, and she was focusing her attention on the bound man. 

“Yes, Lord Commander.”  

“Leave him and go,” Jon ordered.  

The bound man stood quietly before the throne, his wrists bound but his back straight.  “Shall I kneel, Your Grace?”

“Yes,” Brienne answered, at the same moment Jon answered “That’s not necessary.”  There was a pause, and Jon continued solo. “Please, remain on your feet. If you’ve need of a chair--”

“No, thank you, Your Grace.”  Lottar made a partial bow towards the King.  “Your guardsman informed me of the rules and I feel that no moves at all is much safer than bowing and scraping in front of a blade-wielding guard.”  He nodded slightly towards Brienne. 

Both Jaime and Brienne gave a half-smile; Jaime was amused by the man’s frankness, while Brienne was proud of her reputation.  “I like him,” she whispered under her breath, for the King’s ears only.

“We were told that you are the keeper of bloodlines for your kin,” Jon stated.

“Yes, Your Grace, that’s true.”  He waited almost primly.

“Then tell us how a man by the name of Matthar, of the Night’s Watch, is related to House Thorne and why he would claim to his companion that House Thorne had contracted for my life,” Jon demanded.  

“Without the reference of my books, I cannot be for certain, Your Grace.  I would have to check them to verify my words, you understand. Without them, I cannot offer certainty,” he warned.

“We understand,” Jon agreed.  “To the best of your knowledge, then, to be verified upon the contents of your books.”  

“Very well then.”  Lottar nodded. “There is a Matthar, approximately thirty years of age--I don’t recall precisely his age.  Ser Alliser Thorne had both brothers and sisters; two of each, in fact. One of his sisters was wed to a man of little name or known, and outside of that union, there was a bastard child born.  A boy named Matthar. He did not know of his parentage until the death of his mother; her last words to him were to seek out her family, in particular, her brother and his uncle, Alliser Thorne.  The rest of the family had pulled away from Alliser, after his exile to the Wall, but Matthar joined him there. What happened to him there is not a part of the family chronicle.”

Jon nodded.  “That would make sense, if it is the same man.  Alliser was a bastard through and through, if his nephew shared any of his dedication or derangement, he would certainly blame me for Alliser’s death since I am the one who ordered him hanged.”

Lottar made no movement to agree or disagree.  “Yes, Your Grace.” The voice was carefully modulated not to show any sort of judgement.  “To be certain it is the same man, I will have to consult--”

“Yes, I will send for them to be gathered right away.”  Jon rubbed his hands together. “Until this is confirmed, your family will remain in our custody.  Once the books have confirmed your story, we will release you, unless we have found other evidence.”

“If you will allow me to accompany the men you send, I will be able to help them select the appropriate volumes,” Lottar offered.  “Otherwise, they’ll bring everything and that’s generations of books to wade through.” 

Jon was about to nod, but was stopped when Brienne put her hand on his shoulder.  “Your Grace, a moment?” He nodded and she leaned in, so only he would hear. “I think it would be safer if they were simply all brought back.  If Lottar’s allowed to select the volumes, it’d be easy for him to leave out anything that might incriminate him or his kin. If all the books are brought, we can--”

Jon held his hand up.  “Thank you for the offer, Lottar, but I will have all the volumes brought here.  They will be treated with great care, and upon your release, I will send my men to help you return them, in the same state they were borrowed in.”

Lottar inclined his head, but said only, “You are kind, Your Grace.”  

Jaime spoke up next.  “And Balian?”

“There is none such in the Thorne family.  He may be kin to Matthar through his father, but as his father was not Thorne blood, I do not know of him.  The father’s name may have been documented, but I do not remember it.” 

“Then who in your House would have access to the wealth of the Thornes?  According to our information, a bag of gold dragons was offered for the King’s head,” Jaime continued.  “We were told that he and Matthar were going to share the bag between them, and that Matthar was hired because of the Thorne loyalty to the Targaryens.”

“House Thorne has sworn to the Iron Throne,” Lottar answered.  “The House fought on the side of the Targaryens during Robert’s Rebellion, this is true, and for that loyalty Alliser Thorne was sent to the Wall.  But the House has been loyal to the King on the Iron Throne, and that King is you. You are of Targaryen blood, whether or not you embrace it. Your children will carry that blood as well.  In you, and in your children, the Targaryen bloodline has returned to the throne of Westeros, and our allegiance is to that blood, that throne, and the King that sits upon it.” 

For some reason, that did not sit well with Jon--possibly because it discounted his Stark blood entirely.  But he let it pass, after noting silently that the man had not answered the question. “Thank you, Lottar of House Thorne. You and your kin will be given better accommodations, yet you are still under arrest.  You will all be reunited with your children, and as far as possible, given suites or rooms. Once you are cleared, you will be returned to your homes, by the crown’s men, at our expense.  If necessary, funds will be provided, within reason, to repair any damage to homes or to re-hire staff that were lost.”

Lottar held up his bound hands.  “This is a deal that you should be making with Garland, the Head of our House.  But the terms sound fair to me.” 

“Relay them to Garland.  Suggest that he accept them,” Jon ordered.  “If he has concerns, have him send a guardsman to me, and he will be brought back before me to discuss them.”  

“As you will, My Lord.”  

As soon as Lottar was taken from the room, Brienne punched Jaime in the face.

“Oi, woman!”  Jaime cupped his hand over his nose and chin.

Brienne held her hand out flat, letting the torches and candlelight gleam off the gold band on her finger.  “You don’t just  _ do _ that!” she shouted.

Sansa and Jon both shot to their feet when Brienne attacked Jaime, and Sansa clapped her hands over her mouth.  “Jaime, you idiot!”

“I thought you’d be pleased,” he said through his glove.  His nose wasn’t bleeding, but his cheekbone throbbed. Not broken--he’d had broken bones before--but damned if the woman didn’t pack a solid punch.  

“I am pleased!” Brienne shouted, rubbing her fingers over the band.  “But you don’t just shove it on there without a word!” 

“I didn’t have a chance!”  Jaime dropped his hand entirely when she mentioned being pleased.  “If you’re pleased, why did you hit me?”

“Because I love you, you idiot!”  She pushed the King a step or two out of the way so she could embrace Jaime tightly.

“Well, that’s convenient, seeing as how I love you, too.”  He enfolded Brienne in his arms and held her tightly. “I think that’s the first time.”

“I know.”  She rested her head on his shoulder.  “Sorry. I’m not sorry I punched you, though.”

\-----

The King and the Queen had hurried them out after that;  _ you’ve got things to talk about, and I want to hear all about them! _ Had been Sansa’s final proclamation.   _ Of course, my lady, _ had been Brienne’s reassurance, and Jon had merely smiled at Jaime in commiseration and ordered a pitcher of wine and two glasses to be waiting in the Hand’s Tower.   _ Assuming that’s where you’re going. _

That is where they were going.  Tyrion was passed out in the lower bedroom; Podrick was sitting outside of his door, swinging the wooden stake that Geyhausen had given him.  They left him there, swinging his stick, and decamped to Jaime’s bedroom. 

The wine was waiting for them, and Jaime poured both goblets full.  He offered one to Brienne. “You have a nice punch.”

“You deserved it, for that trick.”  She took a long drink from the cup. “You distracted me, and I didn’t need any more distracting.”

“Only fair, you’re a constant distraction.”  Jaime brushed the hair that hung just over her ears from lack of being cut.  “Standing there being beautiful.”

She punched him again, this time in the shoulder.  “We need to talk. Quite seriously.” From her trouser pocket, she withdrew her father’s letter.  “My father is coming, and bringing with him a rather sizable dowry--”

“I don’t want it,” Jaime said immediately.  “I don’t need it, and I won’t take it. I won’t have it seen that I’m buying you.” 

“You’re not going to insult my father by refusing it, either,” she pointed out, making what would have been a question for most people into a statement.  

Jaime scowled at that, because that was quite a fine point he hadn’t considered.  He really would be insulting Selwyn Tarth if he refused. But he would be insulting Brienne’s own wealth and independence if he accepted.  “We need to talk to Jon and Sansa. Perhaps there’s something they can help us figure out.”

“What’s to figure out?” Brienne demanded.  “You accept the dowry that my father gives you.”

A deep sigh.  “If I do that, then that’s an insult to you and everything that you bring.  It’s nothing but a prize, a bribe, an incentive for marriage, and we’ve fought for what we have too hard for it to be reduced to a business interaction.   What if I offered your father a brideprice that’s equal to the dowry that he’s offering?  The dowry and price will be exchanged, but since they’re equal, there’s no real buying or selling going on.”

Brienne shook her head.  “I don’t think my father would accept that.”

“He might if I explain it to him,” Jaime suggested.  “Tell him that I don’t want to insult him by refusing the dowry, or you by taking it.  So if I offer, and he offers, there’s no insult given or taken.”

Brienne considered, and then shook her head.  “No, I know my father. He’ll think you’re trying to pay him to take me off his hands.  He knows how I feel about marriage to begin with, and that I’ve said yes to you is enough of a shock.”

Jaime pondered hard, emptying the cup of wine in silence and watching as Brienne refilled it.  To his surprise, she spoke again.

“My sisters both died in the cradle,” she said softly, shoving the cork back in the bottle neck.  “And my only brother drowned. I don’t know what that means for me, but perhaps, accepting the dowry and holding it in the name of our children could be acceptable.  I am the last of my father’s name; the wealth of the dowry, including whatever lands my father deeds from the island, will be held for whichever of our sons takes the name of Tarth to continue the family line, I would like to ask that.”

Jaime got up from the chair, and rested his metal hand on her shoulder.  “That would be a wonderful idea,” he said honestly. “Our first son will take your father’s name; our second son will keep the name of Lannister.”

Brienne’s head lifted at that, and she met Jaime’s eyes squarely.  “You’re sure of that?”

Jaime nodded.  “I’m certain.” His real hand stroked over her cheek, thumb caressing her cheekbone.  “If my family’s name dies with me, the world will not have lost anything. If your family’s dies out, the world will have lost a line of greatness.”

“No, Jaime.  Neither one of our families’ names should be lost,” she replied.  “You have lifted your house from the mud and shadow, and brought it into the light.  It deserves to be passed on.”

“All right.”  He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her gently.  “Thank you, by the way.” He whispered the words into the kiss, then rested his forehead against hers.  “Thank you for saving me.” 

“You saved yourself,” Brienne pointed out, tilting her head back to press a gentle kiss to Jaime’s lips.  “I was just there to tell you that you could.”


	23. A Pox On All Wedding Planners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and the Queen plan a wedding; letters from Selwyn Tarth precede him; Jaime is stunned by Brienne's new look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm not dead, and this is not abandoned! Yay!

The three weeks before Selwyn of Tarth arrived at King’s Landing was filled with activity.  

Tentative plans were being made for the wedding; right now, the guest list was roughly a thousand people, and Brienne was determined to winnow it down to half that.  The menu had been approved; a roast boar and a pig, venison steaks and stew, a medley of vegetables from Highgarden, an assortment of winter goat cheeses from Winterfell.  Fresh breads were being ordered from the city bakers by the dozens, and the king’s kitchens were organizing the ingredients for a wedding cake.  

The Royal Tailor was after Brienne night and day for fittings.  She’d shouted at the dressmaker that her father was bringing her mother’s dress and that was all she needed, and the dressmaker had rudely retorted that Brienne was not going to be able to fit into the dress unless her mother had been a giant like she.  Abashed, Brienne had backed down and agreed to the fittings.

Practically every inch of her had been measured, fitted, and touched.  Strings and tapes had been dragged around her biceps and across her shoulders, and she’d nearly shanked the dressmaker when she’d gone under Brienne’s tunic for bust and chest measurements.  Her head and the crown of her head had been measured, and many bolts of cloth had been offered for a veil.  

She had, once again, pointed out that her father was bringing her mother’s dress, which likely included the veil.  The dressmaker, losing her patience, had pointed out that Brienne was likely only going to be married once, and wouldn’t it be nice to have preparations made just in case?

Thank the Seven that Jaime had been on hand for that little conversation, because if he hadn’t held her back, Brienne felt like she’d have hauled off and slapped the woman.  

The royal keeper of the coat of arms had also met with Brienne, offering her several designs for cloak and shield--she didn’t ask why a shield was being included--that combined the Evenstar of Tarth with the Stark direwolf.  The one she favored was the sun in the center, and in place of the crescent moons, the silver direwolf on the dark night-sky background.  This would be the cloak she wore to the altar, to be replaced by the red and gold lion of Jaime Lannister.

Unknown to her, Jaime was having the sun and moon of the Tarth sigil added to the red cloak, so that the sun and moon circled his rampant lion.

After two weeks had passed, there was a blanket death threat towards everyone in the Keep who mentioned the wedding to her.  She had begged--literally begged, on one knee--for Sansa to help decide the menu, and had forbidden the Queen from looking at the guest list, because the last time she had, she’d added almost three hundred people.  

After three weeks, she had forbidden Sansa from being in any way involved in the wedding at all.  The guest list had shrunk to eight hundred at one point, and then in the intervening time, had once again grown to one thousand and two hundred.  So not only had the two hundred they’d taken off been re-added, there’d been another two hundred people.

She wasn’t even sure there were that many people in the entirety of Westeros.

But then she’d been reminded that her father’s household alone would be bringing almost a hundred and fifty people, what with relatives and retainers and bannermen and such.  The Stark complement would be almost three times that, and the Lannister complement nearly the same.  Then the Night’s Watch was sending a group of almost fifty, same for Tormund and his people, so that was another hundred right there.  That easily crested the thousand person mark, and Brienne refused to keep counting after that, even though it was pointed out to her that there’d be a delegation of forty or so from Dorne, since Jon and Sansa were trying to create a treaty between the two kingdoms.  

Brienne began to wonder if Tyrion was really onto something with the drinking.  Because if she were drinking, she wouldn’t be having to deal with all of this.  

Another letter came for her, when her father was about a week overdue.

_ My darling daughter, please do not worry.  We are all fine, our party is simply traveling a bit more slowly than we used to.  The heavy winter melting is making some of the roads more difficult to pass.  But we are no more than four days outside of the city; I am sending a rider ahead with your dress and train, so that we do not keep you delayed in your preparations any longer.   _

_ The wedding of Jaime Lannister is all that is talked about on the Kingsroad.  Every house and inn is alight with word of the grand preparations, and of the royal involvement in your nuptials.   _

_ Brienne, it does my heart so much good to know how much you are loved.  As my daughter, I have always known that you are a beautiful woman, inside and out.  A father’s privilege, perhaps, to know the things that other people are only destined to discover later.  But to see you accepted by one and all, befriended and loved, most importantly of all, not alone, you could not have made me any happier if you had tried.   _

_ I love you, daughter of mine.  I will be gratified to give you away, if only to have the rest of the world see how radiant you are. _

_ I have received the letter Jaime left at our inn; it was delivered by a King’s Landing raven, and held for me until my arrival.  He relayed to me the details of the agreement that you and he have worked out, and I am honored beyond words.  To have my house, and my daughter, joined to one of the greatest Houses in the land had been all I had expected; Jaime wrote to me that you intend to keep one of your sons as Lord of Tarth, with the dowry I bring held in trust as that child’s inheritance.  I will deed, then, one third of the lands of the Isle, to that child, to be held in that same trust, so that when he does inherit, he is truly the Lord of Tarth, the Sapphire Isle.   _

_ I will also deed one third of the land to his brother, the future Lord Lannister, so that the families remain joined.  The final third of the land will be yours, my daughter, with all the incomes from it administered in your name, with the expectation that a regent or governor appointed by you and Jaime will stand in your stead after my death.  Talk of this with your husband to be, and if all is agreeable with you both, we will have the appropriate deeds and papers drawn up and recorded before the King’s court.   _

_ You have made a better match for yourself than I could have ever made for you, because you have made it out of love.  I will see you very soon, and I cannot wait. _

_ With All The Love Of Your Father, _

_ Selwyn, Lord Tarth _

Folding the letter back into the envelope, she tucked it into her tunic, and sighed deeply.  Bloody Lannister man hadn’t told her he’d contacted her father, although truly she didn’t mind.  She just didn’t like being broadsided blindly.  

“Excuse me, Ser?”  Randall stuck his head around the corner, peering cautiously.  “Begging your pardon, but the barber sent me to fetch you, said it’s time for your hair to get cut.”  He knew better than to actually relay what was going to happen; the Queen had specifically told him to  _ fetch Brienne to the barber’s, and I shall take it from there, young man.  Now, hurry, do as you’re told. _

Brienne flipped her fingers through the blond length that was just starting to curl around her collar.  “All right, I’m coming.  Find that lump of a Lannister that I’m getting married to, would you please, and tell him I need to have a word when I’m done.”

“Yes, Ser!”  There was no way Randall was going to miss that reaction.  He’d find Jaime and bring him right to the Queen’s chamber.

\-----

Brienne balked like a stubborn horse.  “Oh, no, Your Grace.”  She flatly dug her heels in, and tightened her hand around the hilt of Oathkeeper.

A large copper tub had been filled with steaming hot water, and a smaller tin tub sat to the side of the tub.  Two ladies’ maids sat on stools by the tub, one with soap and one with a pitcher, ready to wash, rinse, and scrub.  A stack of towels sat warming by the fireplace, and a clean set of Brienne’s clothing lay across the chest at the end of the Queen’s table.  

“Oh yes you are,” Sansa insisted.  “Off with the armor, and Randall will take it for a good polishing while we get your hair washed and trimmed, and the rest of you cleaned up.  Then we’ll talk about the wedding.  I haven’t gotten to do this with Arya yet, and Mother wasn’t able to do it with me.  So I am going to do it for you, even if I have to dump the water over your head myself.”  She snapped her fingers at the girl with the pitcher, and the maid surrendered it to the Queen with a bow.  “Now, are you going to get in there or are you up for a good dousing first?”

Brienne held up both her hands, warding the Queen’s eagerness off.  “Fine!”  Brienne unbuckled the belt holding Oathkeeper to the side, and Sansa passed the pitcher back so that she could take the sword and belt from Brienne.  “Please be careful, my lady.”

Sansa waited with her hand on the pommel for Brienne’s nod, and when she got it, she withdrew the sword in a single draw.  “My father’s sword was melted down to make this one,” she said quietly after a moment.  Her arm showed no sign of faltering despite the weight of the sword, and Brienne was impressed.  “Ice was too large for any one man to handle, but it always seemed to suit Father.  He always seemed larger than life, and so Ice was perfect for him.”  She carefully examined the lion’s head at the bottom of the hilt, the gilded pommels.  “This was made for Jaime, but it suits you better.”  With great reverence, Sansa re-sheathed the sword, and laid it carefully on the table beside the clean clothes.  “Thank you.”

Brienne just shrugged; she wasn’t sure what else to say except, “You’re welcome, Your Grace.”  This was the first time Sansa had shown more than a passing interest in Oathkeeper, and she did wonder why.  “I taught you the dagger, but who taught you how to handle a sword?”

“No one, really.  I suppose you could say that I’ve learned from those around me how to handle a weapon.”  She rested her hand on the leather scabbard of the sword.  “Arya is far better than I, as you know, but I’ve never been able to master her Water Dance.”

“Nor I,” Brienne admitted, handing the armor pieces to Randall as she took them off.  “The best I’ve ever been able to do is fight her to a draw.”  Once the mail was completely divested, she shooed the boy out of the room and headed towards the privacy screen in the corner to finish disrobing.  “Would you like to learn?  After the baby is born, I mean?  Geyhausen is working with Podrick, which means I’d have time for you, if you like.”

Sansa laughed softly.  “No, thank you, though.  I feel my husband and my guards are well enough on that score, as well as the Kingsguard.  Every once in awhile, however, I get the urge to try on Longclaw.  Jon’s never caught me, or if he has he’s never mentioned it.”  A surprisingly girlish giggle.  “I think he’d like me playing with his sword.”

Brienne’s scandalized expression appeared to the side of the privacy screen.  “Your Grace!”  But she couldn’t hold it very long, and it turned to an almost ribald laughter.  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Sansa laughed again, and caught the clothing that Brienne threw at her.  “It’s not as if you haven’t thought the same about Jaime’s sword!”

The shower of clothing missiles stopped, and Brienne stepped from behind the screen, arms crossed over her breasts and groin.  “I actually haven’t, other than the obvious.”  She shrugged the steadying hands of both women off, and lowered herself quickly into the safety of the tub.  “He gave his heart to me when he gave me that sword, and I’ve only lately come to realize how important that is.”  

Sansa picked up the last of the clothing that had fallen behind the screen, and held up the letter.  “This fell out of your shirt.”

“It’s from my father,” Brienne answered, taking the cake of scented soap from the first maid and making a face at it.  “Haven’t you got anything normal?”

The maid darted a look at Sansa.  “That’s the Queen’s favorite!”

Sansa stuck the letter from Selwyn back into Brienne’s clean clothing, and then tittered.  “She means plain, Mira,” she explained.  “Brienne would probably prefer a cake of my husband’s soap, if you would be so kind.”  

“Yes, please.”  Brienne gladly surrendered the lavender scented bar to the lady’s maid, who slipped out of the bathing chamber with silent steps.  “And thank you,” she shouted after her.

“I should have realized, sister,” Sansa apologized.  “Father wasn’t fond of mother’s scented soaps either.  He always preferred his own, and so does Jon.”

“Jaime used to use some god-awful perfumed soap that tickled my nose.  He’s quit using it in the last year, thank the gods.”  The remaining maid lifted Brienne’s head to tuck a folded pillow under it, and Brienne didn’t struggle.  “What--”

“Oh, that’s just for you to be comfortable.  After you’re cleaned, we’ll wash your hair and my girl will help you trim it and put it up for the wedding,” Sansa explained.  “I’ve seen the design for your veil, and there’s a starburst that’s acting as a headband.  So we’re going to tease your bangs a bit, so it looks as if you’re being crowned by a star.  Then trim it short behind and to the side, because anything else just wouldn’t be you.”  

“I’m not even certain that a starburst is me,” she protested, and pushed the girl away when she tried to take the cloth.  “I can wash myself!”

Sansa shushed the girl’s ruffled expression.  “Why don’t you go and make certain Randall can handle the good knight’s armor on his own?” she suggested kindly.  The girl dutifully rose and bowed to the queen before leaving the room.  “Better?”

“Much.”  The warm water was pinking her skin up nicely, and when the cake of unscented soap was put in her hand, she sighed happily and started working up a froth.  “You’re going to cry when you see the state of my hands,” Brienne added as she started to scrub her skin.

“I’ve already wept for it,” Sansa agreed, sitting on a stool by the table.  “Whatever do you do to them?”

“Use them,” Brienne retorted.  A soft sigh as the cloth slipped over her skin, and she reminded herself that she was going to have to find out if this castle had a bathing house.  Or else where she could get a tub of her own.  Which led to her remembering the bathhouse where she and Jaime had bathed together, and that made her flush an even deeper red than the warm water. 

Sansa was watching quietly, wondering what was making Brienne flush like that.  “Whatever are you thinking?”

Brienne buried her face in the cloth for a long moment.  “The baths at Harrenhall,” she admitted honestly, after she drew in a deep breath.  “Jaime told me the true story of the Kingslayer there, and collapsed into my arms.  He gave me his trust that day, and I have striven to keep it.”  

Sansa had heard bits of the story over time, but sensed that now was not the time to ask Brienne to re-tell it.  “As far as I can tell, you have done so.”

“I’d like to think I have.”  She held both her hands up out of the water, examining her fingers.  “He’d just lost his hand to Locke, and in the same breath that he reminded me that I was failing your mother, he apologized and told me that I looked after him better than most.”  Her hands fell back into the tub with a splash.  I think I’d begun to love him even then.”  

Sansa sat in silence, watching Brienne bathe.  She wasn’t sure what to say, because anything light-hearted would trivialize what had been revealed, but there was nothing that Sansa could say.  So instead, she rested one hand on Brienne’s shoulder.  “When your children are born, Jaime and Jon will arrange a marriage between our child and yours.  Whether it is a daughter or a son, my sister’s child shall be promised to mine,” she declared.  “Lannister and Tarth shall unite with Stark and Targaryen.”

Brienne looked shocked and she turned in the tub to fully face the queen.  “That is very kind of you, and I would be honored to accept.” 

“There’s time yet to decide,” Sansa pointed out.  “But I want to make that promise to you, that when the time is right, it will happen.”  

The answering laugh was soft.  “I hope that you are right, your Grace.”  

\-----

A soft knock on the bathing room door roused Brienne from her drowsing.  The water was chilled, but the fire had been banked warmly and towels left on a warming rack.  A warming pan had been slipped underneath her clothes, and she lifted herself out of the tub.  “Just a moment.”  She took one of the warm towels from the rack and wrapped it around her chest, tucking it under her arms.  “Is that you, Randall?”

“No, it’s Jaime fucking Lannister,” Bronn sang out.  “His lordship sent me to fetch you for dinner.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”  Brienne cracked the door enough to see Bronn in the hallway.  “Give me a minute to get dressed, would you?”

Bronn’s eyes widened a bit.  Brienne’s hair had been tended to while she’d been soaking, and he had to admit, it was more fetching than her usual shag.  “Uh, yeah.”

Brienne slammed the door in his face, her hair the least of her concerns.  She was glad of the warm clothes, tugging them onto her still-damp body as she toweled off the worst of the wetness.  Her armor had not been returned, and it occurred to her that she was going to have to scold Randall.  But her white cape was hanging by the door, along with her signet chain, and she draped both over her head as she swung the door open.  “All right.  Let’s go.”

Bronn headed back towards the Lord Commander’s bedchamber instead of the palace’s dining room.  “He’s got it set up in your quarters tonight, said you needed to talk to him about something.”

Brienne touched her jerkin pocket, relieved to find her father’s letter still in there.  “Yes, I do, thank you,” she answered automatically.

Bronn didn’t say anything else as he walked her back to her rooms.  “What happened to the armor?”

“They were burnt by dragonfire,” she answered.  “The smell… I had them moved.”

“Don’t blame you.  Got too close to dragons myself during the burning at the Goldroad,” he commented.  “Fool Lannister nearly got himself roasted, too, trying to execute the Dragon Queen.  Not only did I have to shove him into the damned river to keep him from roasting alive, I had to drag his armor-heavy ass out of it again.”

Brienne nodded, somehow not in the least surprised, even though “He’s never told me that.”

“Not surprised.  Jaime likes to be the hero.”

_ No, he just likes to be thought of as something other than Kingslayer. _   She didn’t say it aloud, but wondered if that were actually the truth.  “That’s because he is one,” is all she said aloud.

Bronn rolled his eyes.  “Can you find your way from here, or do you need me to knock on the door for you too?”

“I’m not going to knock on my own bloody door,” she groused, and waved him off.  She waited until Bronn had turned the corner, and then opened the door to her rooms.  

Jaime was standing by the fireplace, back to the door.  He was haloed by the firelight, so that he appeared to be made of the same gold as his hand.  The fire danced in his eyes when he turned to greet her, and the softness of his smile made him look like a young knight again.    

“I hated to disturb you…” his words trailed off as he got a good look at her.  Her hair had been trimmed and brushed, fixed back with combs and clips.  It framed her face slightly differently than before, made her eyes the focus of her features.  “Did Sansa do that?”

Brienne reached up self-consciously and touched the styled hair.  “Yes, she did.  It’s supposed to be for the wedding, she wanted to see how it would look.”  Dropping her eyes, she fumbled at the unfamiliar clasps of the combs.

“No, stop.”  Jaime caught her wrist in his hand.  “You look lovely, I was just surprised.  I didn’t think you could look more lovely.”  

Brienne’s first instinct was to twist away, hide, and accuse him of making fun of her.  But she knew that he wasn’t doing anything of the sort; he was being honest.  He found her lovely, and apparently having her hair done like this pleased him.  “I’m not used to it,” she answered honestly, but let him pull her hand away.  Not knowing what else to do, she linked their fingers together.

Jaime’s answer was simple; he leaned in and kissed her.  A soft press of his lips against hers, his golden hand resting on her shoulder as he used their linked hands to pull her in closer.  She let go, and Jaime felt her arms coming around his waist and suddenly both of their bodies softened.  Hard planes found answering curves, strength found strength and touch found heat.  Instead of tangling in her hair, Jaime’s hand cupped her face and Brienne used her clasp on Jaime’s shoulders to press instinctively closer. 

The kiss broke abruptly when Jaime pulled away, and moved Brienne’s hands from his chest.  “Woman, you are going to be the death of me,” he said breathlessly, licking his lips as he brought her hands to rest against his mouth.

Briefly, Brienne thought it ridiculous that they were still doing this, but realized in the next second that he was protecting her, her honor, their honor.  “I’m not going to let you die yet, Lannister.” 

A breathy laugh against her skin was his answer, and slowly Jaime let her hands fall.  “You distract me.  I wanted to tell you a package arrived for you an hour ago, from your father.  A single rider brought it.”

Reaching into the tunic pocket, Brienne held out the letter from her father.  “It’s my mother’s wedding trousseau.  Dress, veil, and I don’t know what all else.  Tomorrow I’ll take it to the seamstress so that she can measure it, and start to fit it.”  A soft groan and she banged her forehead on Jaime’s shoulder.  “That’s going to be unpleasant.”

“I’ll go with you; I have to pick up my cloak.”  He accepted the letter, but didn’t open it.  Instead, he held it up.

“It’s from my father; he said that you wrote to him and he agrees to everything.  He also makes a suggestion that I’d like you to consider.  He wants to deed a third of the Isle to our first son, Lord of Tarth, and a third to our second son, Lord Lannister, and the last third in my name, to be administered by an agent we choose after his death.  I know your brother has business in Oldtown, but I’d like to ask if he’d like to be our regent.”

Jaime unfolded the letter as Brienne spoke, but when she mentioned Tyrion, he put it back down.  “Are you certain you’d want my brother in charge of affairs in your name?”

“He might be a bastard--and he is, don’t deny it--but he’s also smart and capable.  I know his injuries still give him troubles, but it’s possible the sea air and the green fields of Tarth could ease him in ways this shithole of a city can’t.”  She went to the bed where the box was laid out and put her hand on it, running her fingertips over the gold seal of her mother’s House.  “He’d be away from everything about the Dragonwar.”  

Jaime left the letter on the table, and walked over to Brienne, his hands going to rest on her shoulder.  “You won’t take it personally if he says no?”

Brienne laughed softly.  “Of course not.  I’ve punched him in the face already, so I can’t do that again.  I won’t take it personally.”

Jaime groaned when she mentioned punching Tyrion in the face.  “You know, you’re not supposed to strike the crippled, although knowing my brother, he deserved it.”

Although he hadn’t asked for explanation, Brienne felt he was owed one.  “He came up behind me and demanded to know why I hadn’t bedded you yet.”

An explosive sigh nearly puffed the clips out of Brienne’s hair.  “I’m going to kick him down the stairs.”


End file.
